Mars Vigila
by Caught in a Dream
Summary: Luciana is everything a slave should be; quiet, obedient and diligent, but after she meets Artorius and his knights on their last mission the fiery defiance that had been beaten out of her is rekindled. Lancelot/OC/Tristan
1. Chapter 1

**My apologies if I have abbreviated the praenomen (Luciana) incorrectly. Please let me know how to change anything here if it does need changing. As always reviews, favourites, simply reading are greatly appreciated so thank you. **

**For those of you who aren't sure I will try and explain quickly how I understand Roman names worked. People in the Roman society normally had three names:**

**The praenomen – the given name normally only used by family members and close friends**

**The nomen – the name of the clan a person belonged to, eg Naius**

**The cognomen – a nickname or personal name that helped distinguish members of clans from one another, eg. Germanus**

**It was more common to call someone by their abbreviation of their Praenomen and their Nomen or simply their Cognomen than it was by only their Praenomen in polite society. Since I'm trying to keep things (hopefully) reasonably accurate I will be trying to follow this structure where appropriate.**

**If you wish to learn more about this structure and the other aspects of roman life I've included or if you wish to research these things for your own stories then I would recommend Nova Roma online as this is where I got the majority of my information from. If you have any questions about the content of this story then please ask me, I'll be more than happy to answer any questions to the best of my ability. **

Mars Vigila  
Part I

It had been a perfectly normal day.

The young Ornatrice padded silently in bare feet down the corridor of her Master Marius' home. As always she smiled at the guards when she strolled past them, too caught up in her own thoughts to notice that they were staring at her bare, now near blue feet, wincing when the cold-induced pain shot up her shins. Of course, she knew that the easiest way to avoid such discomforts would simply be to wear the shoes provided for her, but her Master had demanded silence and L Equitia Atella took her orders _very _seriously.

In the dead stillness of the house the three sharp raps to her Mistress' chamber door sounded obnoxiously loud. Waiting for a few seconds Luciana slipped through the large door, shutting it carefully behind her. She lived well for a slave; as far as material possessions went she was better off in the service of Marius than she was in her own home...

But there was no point dwelling on that place anymore.

"Something wrong?" Looking up Luciana caught her Mistress Fulcinia's eye and then studied her own reflection carefully only to be shocked when she finally noticed the tears pooling in her aquamarine eyes. She hadn't even realised she'd started crying.

"Nothing domina," she replied softly, continuing with her work. Fulcinia sat perfectly still as her Ornatrice braided her hair with the speed and skill that ensured Fulcinia that she was worth every bit of what they'd paid for her. In fact, she had been a bargain...

"_Here," the young man said, gently pushing the girl forwards for inspection. Looking over the two Marius found the man, L Aelius Scipio, to look the most uncomfortable. How odd. _

"_Those aren't Roman eyes." Aelius Scipio shrugged._

"_My father never spoke about it but her parents are Roman."_

"_Slaves as well?"_

"_No, one of the gladiator school's weapons smiths and his wife... too many mouths to feed apparently." Out of the corner of his eye Marius saw the girl flinch at the mention of her parents, clearly it was a raw subject._

"_I see... her health?"_

"_Perfectly healthy." Scipio watched as Marius studied one of the girl's scrawny arms. "She _is _healthy," he began, with as much conviction as he could muster, "she's just small for her age." Marius continued his inspection. "My father fed and looked after her well." _

"_I'm sure he did." Ti Aelius Scipio had always been too nice for his own good. "What of her education?" he asked, taking a step back towards his wife. _

"_She can read and write well enough... and she's quite eloquent for a slave." The girl yawned loudly and Marius glared at her, only to be shocked when she glared straight back. Such impertinence!_

"_Skills?" he inquired, still glaring. _

"_None that I know of, but she's young, she'll train up we-"_

"_I can do hair and makeup already," the girl interrupted, her gaze firmly planted on Fulcinia, both Marius and Cordus were too surprised to reprimand her. "One of the ladies here taught me," she added as an afterthought. Indeed, she was eloquent for a slave but to Marius that was neither here nor there; she would speak out of turn, she would dare to hold his gaze, worse, she would be so wholly and completely insolent as to speak to him, not even as his equal, but as though she were his superior. For a few seconds Marius weighed up his options and then looked to his wife beside him, she clearly wanted the child._

"_We have a deal." The two men shook hands and continued on with the expected polite conversation but, Marius' mind had remained on the girl. _

_How fun it would be to beat that defiant spirit out of her. _

At first Luciana had been all too bold, refusing to follow orders and then laughing maniacally when she was beaten for it, she had flaunted her religion to Marius' most pious Christian colleagues but, over then ten years they had owned her, she had been slowly broken. It saddened Fulcinia somewhat, she had taken delight in the small girl who would stand up to Marius in a way that she as his wife never could...

But that girl was gone now and that churning wildness in the depths of those blue eyes was long gone, all that was left was the perfect slave, obedient and obliging.

* * *

Hearing a grand commotion outside Luciana thought it her duty to send everyone below her in their little household hierarchy back to work, out of instinct she headed straight for a congregation of cooks as they huddled by the gates and set them back about their proper business, revelling in the small bit of power she possessed.

Cautiously she headed towards the gates, cursing herself with each step for not picking up some shoes on her way out of the house. The closer she got the more of the conversation she could hear; there was shouting, arguing, the sound made her cringe; such a fuss was often the prelude to beatings. Peering past the guards Luciana stared at the man speaking to Marius. "Who is he?" she wondered aloud, barely aware that she had spoken.

"Artorius Castus, a great military leader from what I hear." Luciana looked over Artorius and nodded before trailing her gaze over the men behind him, she lingered longer over some than she did others.

"His men are not Roman?"

"Sarmatian." It made sense, she decided, as she tossed her simple black braid over her shoulder, they certainly didn't look Roman. Her first master, a kindly man by the name of Ti Aelius Scipio, had told her of the fifteen years of service required of each Sarmatian son. She could never imagine fighting for a cause that was not her own but she could, at least, sympathise with being away from home for so long.

"Go back to work! All of you!" Marius' guards surged towards the serfs, shoving them in the general direction of their work and barking orders as they went. Artorius dismounted swiftly in a single sleek movement and strode towards Marius.

"If I fail to bring you and your son back my men can never leave this land so you're coming with me if I have to tie you to my horse and drag you all the way to Hadrian's Wall myself." A small smile flickered across Luciana's lips, how she would love to see that. "My Lord," added Artorius insincerely and a small chuckle escaped her which she only just managed to cover with a loud cough. Looking down she could feel Marius' glare boring into her skull and before she had time to diffuse the situation he had turned on her.

"What are you staring at you little heretic?" He smacked her square across the cheek and her head snapped painfully to the side, Artorius and his men all started forwards but they were soon surrounded.

"Are you hurt?" Fulcinia asked in a hushed tone, trying not to upset her husband further. Luciana's fists shook with the effort of restraint.

"No, I'm not hurt," she replied, loud enough for Marius to hear. Marius' jaw clenched, made bold by the presence of Artorius and his men she was taunting him, knowing that he could do her no real harm whilst those men were there. That insubordinate gleam in her eye was back.

Despite his glaring Luciana met his gaze evenly; she wanted nothing more in that moment than to crush him, to scream and yell at him, to pull his hair from his head and beat him senseless. She could, if she really wanted to, it would be so easy and she would be in no real danger. The extra pins she carried for her Mistress' hair began to feel heavy and suddenly became all the more tempting as weapons.

'_Not as good as a dagger.' _The shock of such a notion snapped Luciana back into her normal placid self. She bowed slightly to Marius. "Thank you for sparing me, dominus." Artorius gripped the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white about it, with an immense so of self-control he managed to still his hand.

"Lady, my knights are hungry." Fulcinia looked nervously to her husband, waiting for the begrudging nod and, before she could get herself into any further danger, she dragged Luciana back towards the house.

* * *

"Are you alright?" There was no answer. "Atella?" Turning quickly Luciana smiled at her friend, a guard she knew as Caminus, as he looked down at her.

"I'm fine," she told him quickly, turning her red cheek away from him to stop him staring. Ducking past him she grabbed a jug of ale and slowly made her way around the knights, offering a mere cupful to them at her Master's command. She kept her eyes downcast for most of them, but upon reaching the one with the dark curls and even darker eyes she felt compelled to meet his steady gaze. She frowned. If there was anything Luciana could boast it was her ability to read people...

But she could not read this man.

"Ale?" she proffered the jug, keeping eye contact as his cup was filled.

Still nothing.

Gritting her teeth Luciana almost growled with frustration. "What are you doing?" she snapped as he placed a gentle, calloused hand over her bruised cheek. His fingers brushed the sensitive skin and Luciana felt her cheeks grow hot, his insufferable smirk suggested he was used to such a reaction out of women.

"Do all Romans treat their women this way?"

"It depends."

"On?"

"Obedience mainly..." Luciana flinched slightly as he sharply retracted his hand.

"I'm surprised you don't have more scars with his temper," he scoffed.

"My Master is very careful about where he marks his slaves."

"He does this often?"

"Of course he does, what are we to him?" He turned sharply from her, his eyed darkened with rage, how he despised the tone of resignation in her voice at that moment.

"Lancelot," a blond knight said, patting his comrade's shoulder, "wait until we get back to the fort, bed her as a free man." The blond laughed and Luciana felt her blush darken considerably. Swiftly she moved on.

Beside the window sat a knight with a hawk on his arm, speaking gently to it he shook his head as Luciana approached. "Stay still," he spoke just as gently to her as he did to the hawk. "Now come, slowly." Luciana took a tentative step forwards, slipping her feet from her shoes as she did so.

Reaching out a hand she came to kneel beside the knight, watching the hawk with the utmost fascination, she had never seen one so close before. Quietly as she could, she placed the jug she was carrying on the ground, her eyes focused at all times on the magnificent bird. "What is your name?" Luciana asked as she stared intently as the knight's slim fingers quietened the hawk on his wrist.

"... Tristan," he murmured after a short while. Ignoring Tristan's sharp eyes on her, Luciana extended a hand forward, the hawk spread her wings then settled as Luciana ran her fingertips over the sleek feathers.

"I wish I could fly," Luciana muttered wistfully, standing when she heard Fulcinia calling for her. Tristan watched as the slave girl grabbed the jug of ale and scurried away.

With a quick flick of his wrist, Tristan set the hawk into flight, gazing silently as she dived slightly before catching the breeze and soaring, lifting herself into the sky with the combined power of her wings and her immense will. Tristan sighed. "So do I."

* * *

Descending the first few stairs Luciana went with the full intention of helping the knights in whatever way she could. She had always known there had been monks in that awful place, but never before had she even contemplated that there might be others locked away in that shallow pit of hell. Stooping suddenly she studied a blood stained bone of the ground.

What kind of monsters would reduce a person to this?

The shouting pulled her from her terror and Luciana quietly stepped into the chamber. The stench hit her before she even had a chance to take in her surroundings, engulfing her in its rotten pungency. Nervously she looked around, staring at the bodies with their sunken eye sockets and the remnants of their skin tented from their ribcages.

She was too terrified to even scream.

All of the knights stared at her and the dark-eyed knight pushed her gently in the direction of the stairs. "Go back," he told her, his eyes cold and voice colder.

"I-I want to help," she stuttered.

"You can't, now go." Luciana's brow furrowed, she wanted to stay, she still wanted to help... but... she had been given order.

Pivoting on her heel Luciana blinked as the dull sunlight dazed her. "Atella?" A hand on her arm shocked her into paying attention, Alecto was speaking to her. "What is it? What's down there?" Luciana gave a small shake of her head; she didn't care for recalling such a memory. Glaring at Marius, Luciana felt the bile begin to rise in her throat and the thought of a specially sharpened dagger returned to her.

'_It wouldn't even need to be quick... he could suffer, you could make him suffer.' _A dark smiled involuntarily quirked Luciana's lips and Marius took a step back when he caught her stare. He would always rue the day his wife had convinced him not to send that little heretic down to the monks.

"Water! Get me some water!" Hearing Artorius' command Luciana instantly rushed to fetch a fresh skin, handing it to her Mistress as she went to aid Artorius.

"What the hell happened?" Luciana muttered, shaking with rage as she saw the young boy being hauled from that unholy dungeon; he looked so much like her brother. Tears of pure, unadulterated rage welled up in the corners of her eyes. "Who the hell do you think you are?" Launching herself forwards Luciana only just managed to scratch his cheek before she was restrained by the guards. Desperately she struggled, trying to claw her way from their arms, fury still clouded her vision. One by one the knights emerged from the darkness and stopped to stare at the awaiting scene in mild wonderment.

"Kill her!" screamed Marius, clutching his bleeding cheek. The guards hesitated; she was one of their own. "What are you waiting for? Kill the heretic!" She merely glared at him and continued on with her struggles. "She is a pagan! They are all pagans!"

"So are we!" one of the knights shouted back.

"I follow the religion of my ancestors before me! The religion that built the very foundations of Rome!" screamed Luciana, still kicking and clawing the guards that held her.

"They refuse to do the task that God has set for them!" reasoned Marius. "They must die as an example!"

"You mean they refused to be your serfs!" Artorius shouted back. "Refused to be your slaves!" He gestured in Luciana's general direction.

"You are a Roman, **you **understand." Marius cast Luciana a quick glance, remembering that she was also a Roman. "And you are a Christian," he added quickly. He then turned to his wife as she knelt beside the Woad woman although her gaze remained firmly planted on Luciana. "You!" Fulcinia's eyes darted to the face of her husband. "You kept them alive!"

The sound of Marius' palm hitting Fulcinia's pale cheek ignited a deep-rooted hatred in the majority of the servants; their Mistress was a sweet woman, one that allowed them some dignity. Artorius lunged forwards, hitting Marius square in the jaw. Luciana was dropped haphazardly onto the floor and, out of instinct; she scrambled over to her Mistress, completely fascinated when Artorius took up his sword.

"My Lord!" the guards chorused, charging forwards.

"No! No, stop!" Marius responded before looking up at Artorius. "When we get to the wall you will be punished for this heresy," he threatened. Artorius grabbed his cloak.

"Perhaps I should kill you now and seal my fate."

"If you don't then I will," Luciana snarled, glaring at Marius.

"I was willing to die with them," one of the monks interjected, "yes, to lead them to their rightful place. It's God's wish that these sinners be sacrificed."

"Then I will grant his wish," Artorius retorted. "Wall them up!" His knights jumped forwards, shoving the monks back into their grave. Marius was hauled to his feet by his guards.

"I will have your family burned," he said to Luciana, once more Artorius went to hit him but someone else beat him to it.

Luciana leapt from her place beside Fulcinia and the Woads straight onto Marius. Bloodlust clouded her eyes and not even the guards could stop her as she delivered blow after shattering blow to her Master's face and torso. A loud _crunch _sounded when her fist came into contact with his nose and blood slowly began to dribble down his chin. After a good deal of brawling two guards finally managed to grab hold of her, each taking an arm and yanking her upwards.

Her wail was the cry of a wounded animal.


	2. Chapter 2

**I know, I deserve to be shot for taking this long but there was a holiday (never going a week without internet again, EVER), then my laptop was being repaired and then I got writers block. **

**To be honest I'm still not completely happy with this but I didn't want to keep you guys waiting around any longer. **

**I'm so, so, so sorry! The next update will be sooner, I am determined!**

**I would have gone through more of the movie but I ended up writing to different endings for this chapter, I don't want to completely overhaul the film but at the same time I don't want to kill of Dagonet... seriously stuck on that one...**

**On a different note, Liliesshadow, Anime Princess, CherryBlossomKitty x and Miss-Paparella – thank you so much for your reviews! It made my day to read them all! Hope you like this new chapter. **

Mars Vigila  
Part II

Luciana could do naught but watch as the others prepared to leave. Scowling from her seat atop her trunk, she watched as one of the cooks, a girl a full five years Luciana's junior, tossed about orders to the rest of the slaves and the serfs.

It was simply not her place.

Shoving herself into a standing position, Luciana winced when her arm dropped and hung lamely at her side. "Let me have a look." Her head snapped to the side upon hearing Tristan's voice. Weakly she glared at him but her anger soon subsided, she didn't care if misery loved company, she just wanted to wallow in her own self-pity for a short while longer. "Your name's Atella?"

"One of them, yes." He stepped forwards and, without warning, touched her shoulder. A horrible throb shot through her arm. "Don't!" she hissed, swatting his hand away.

"Your shoulder needs to be reset," he explained quietly, in the same tone he might have used with a nervous filly. "It will hurt." Luciana pouted, it would need to be done; she simply couldn't afford to lose the use of even one of her hands.

Tristan frowned as he pressed two fingers into her shoulder, ignoring her pained yelp, considering the cause a decent amount of damage had been done. "Focus on me." She stared at him, holding his gaze as steadily as she could with her own. He went to move and she flinched, her free hand curled around his arm, squeezing it tight. She met his gaze again, her eyes now far too wide for her face. "How long have you worked for him?"

"... Just over a- ah!" Simultaneously Luciana bit her lip to muffle her scream and dug her nails into his arm. Trying to clear her eyes of tears, she began blinking rapidly, unaware of Tristan shifting uncomfortably before her. "Thank you..." she managed to choke out.

"Tristan, why is it that whenever we leave you along with a woman she ends up in tears?" Lancelot suddenly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

"I reset her shoulder," Tristan defended himself half-heartedly.

"I'm not crying," Luciana snapped meekly, only to have Lancelot respond with a charming smile.

Unfortunately, Luciana was in no mood for being charmed.

"Arthur wants you to scout out the area, find out how much time we have and the best route to take." Hearing the change in tone Luciana looked up curiously at Lancelot, almost forgetting that Tristan was still present among them.

"You need to keep your arm still for a few weeks," Tristan told her before looking back to his fellow knight. "Lancelot," he said with a nod before disappearing into the trees.

"I think you have a knack with him," commented Lancelot, easy smile back in place, "it's the most I've ever heard him speak without ale in him." He moved towards her. "That was quite the show back there... for a moment I doubted it was the same woman who had earlier served me ale."

"Well... there's only so much a person can take before they snap." She looked down at her hands in her lap, wincing when her shoulder ached again she watched warily as Lancelot took a piece of cloth from a passing servant. He took a moment to survey her, she had gained an unearthly pallor but he couldn't quite figure out if it was from pain or fear.

"Hold still." Gently, he lifted her arm and began arranging the cloth about it, tying knots to ensure her arm stayed in one place. "Lean forwards." After a curious glance Luciana did what he told her, unnerved somewhat by his sudden change in attitude. She shivered when he brushed a wavy lock of black hair from her neck, his calloused fingertips barely grazing the sensitive skin there. After tying the final knot he smirked at her again.

"It's cold," she remarked suddenly, almost cursing when her cheeks began to grow warm. His smirk widened.

Luciana didn't know whether to kiss him or slap him.

* * *

Looking ahead Luciana stared at the snow as it fell around them, it was hard to believe that something so soft, so seemingly pure and gentle, could cause so much devastation; eleven of Marius' servants had fallen prey to illness that year alone.

Staring into the distance Luciana watched Tristan ride towards Artorius, or 'Arthur' as she'd heard some of the knights call him. A quick exchange of words between them ended with Tristan riding away with a creased brow and a deepened frown, all the knights were visibly very tense, more so when they realised what a momentous task their Commander had volunteered them for. "I am Guinevere," the Woad woman's introduction served only to pluck Luciana from her musings. Her thoughts moved on to just how she should introduce herself.

"L Equitia Atella..." She only just managed to stifle a laugh at the puzzled look on the Woad's face. "Friends call me Atella, Family call- called me Luciana..." she shifted uncomfortably as her thoughts turned to her family, "and my master calls me heretic... pick a name." Guinevere laughed lightly in response.

"Which would you rather I called you by?" Once more Luciana took it into deep consideration, no one had ever asked her that before...

"Luciana."

"Luciana it is then." They offered one another tired smiles before each looking away. For the first time in years Luciana felt the exhaustion of slavery wash over her, she had never before had time to rest during the day. Her limbs suddenly felt very heavy. "... You are Roman?"

"Yes, I am." She noted the look on Guinevere's face then followed her gaze as the Woad's eyes darted over to the carriage where Marius and his family now sat. "We're not all sadistic bastards you know."

"I just... never realised they enslaved their own people."

Luciana snorted, "In Rome there are more slaves than citizens."

"... I see," Guinevere sounded sadly. "How long have you been from home?" With a grimace Luciana turned away from her, she didn't really want to think about home.

"I don't know... a long time."

"Why did you leave them?" For the third time that day Luciana found herself near tears, this was precisely the reason she preferred being busy, having something to do and someone to look after, it never left any time for thought.

"I had to..." she reasoned and the conversation halted. "I don't regret it," she added suddenly and it seemed she spoke more to herself than to anyone else.


	3. Chapter 3

**Yep, definitely deserve to be shot for that... I'm more weak-willed than I would like to admit but now that I have some semblance of a plot in my mind, updates should be much more frequent. Sorry guys!**

**Just a side note, the next chapter should be the last one based on the movie. **

**Admiral von Cha-Cha, kvsgrl, amrawo, Liliesshadow and xXAngelStormXx – thanks so much for your reviews on the last chapter!**

Mars Vigila  
Part III

Arthur moved away from the boy and Dagonet, nodding at Fulcinia as he walked past her, years of training allowing him to keep his balance as the wagon rattled down the uneven trial. He looked between the two women on either side of the small space; the Woad was fully alert, regarding him with curious, dark eyes while the slave girl waited until he knelt beside her before she even acknowledged his presence. "I apologise for my men's impoliteness." She pulled a face and he quickly added on, "I hear them call you Luciana... they don't quite understand Rome's systems-"

"I told them to call me that," she interrupted with a smile, "and I would have you call me that as well, Artorius." He smiled back at her; glad to that she still used his Roman name.

As their conversation continued, Arthur found his smile widening, her Latin was fast, fluent and it seemed to be the first time in years that he had had a decent conversation with another Roman, one that wasn't centred on the messy business of war. "How is your shoulder?" he asked when a silence fell between them.

"... Fine..." she answered unsurely, as though simply trying to appease him with her answer. "Your scout reset it," she said as an afterthought.

"You will be safe now." His attempts at reassurance earned him nothing more than a grim smile.

"I fear when we reach Rome that Marius will make good on his promise and have me burned." Her gaze flickered over the commander and she took quick note of the sudden tightening of his jaw and the renewed alertness flourishing behind his otherwise tired eyes. "Unless..." she began, sitting up straighter, "... I could stay here... I'm sure I could be of some use and Marius wouldn't dare to argue with you." Hope brightened her eyes and it was something that Arthur just couldn't bring himself to snatch away from her.

"Leave it with me," he replied quickly, forcing a smile before turning to the Woad, filing away yet another worry alongside all the others.

Luciana soon lost interest in the exchange between Arthur and Guinevere, choosing instead to continue watching the snow through a gap in the fabric which created the wagon's covering. "You're awake." Hearing the familiar voice Luciana locked gazes with Lancelot, he was quick to catch her frown. "Something wrong?"

She pondered over it for a moment, thinking over which issue to relate, the constant ache of her shoulder, her fitful slumber, her uncertain future...

"I'm bored," she responded eventually.

He chuckled, "Is that all?" She somehow managed to smile and nod. He laughed and a short silence settled between them. "So... you are Roman?"

"Yes," she snapped, irritated further when Lancelot cast a disbelieving glance her way. "Why do all seem to find that so hard to believe?" He merely quirked a brow and Luciana's hand shot up to cover her mouth. "Sorry, I-"

"You don't look like a Roman-"

"Neither does your commander." She threw a quick glance over her shoulder to see if Arthur had heard her, but it seemed that he was far too engrossed in his conversation with Guinevere to take much notice of what was going on around him.

"But he is half-Briton." Momentarily Luciana's eyebrows disappeared beneath the hair that had managed to work free from the otherwise neat braid. "We thought you might be something similar."

"Well I'm not," was the retort, far sharper than she had ever intended it to be. Lancelot opened his mouth to speak, entirely fed up already with her mood-swings, when a sound was emitted from the wagon, a low groan followed by a sharp gasp. He looked instantly at Luciana, mouthing the words 'what is that' at her. She shrugged in response.

"Artorius is resetting Guinevere's fingers." A half-cry startled them both. "At least, I hope that's what he's doing..."

"Have a look," Lancelot urged, his lips curved into a crooked grin.

Vigorously, Luciana shook her head. "You look."

"I can't from out here, you do it." Unable to argue with his logic, Luciana conceded and dared to turn, doing so just in time to see Guinevere slumping against Arthur. Her gaze darted back to Lancelot as she muffled her laughter as best as she could with the coarse blanket which she had been bundled up in at the beginning of the journey.

The pair of them sat sniggering like children who had just discovered some tantalising secret but when Luciana looked up at the knight, she noticed something in his eyes. There was a momentary sadness there that he quickly concealed. Luciana crossed her arms across her chest and huffed loudly.

Was he being deliberately confusing?

* * *

Since Lancelot had been called away by one of the others, Luciana had felt boredom quickly set in once more. For a short while she merely sat there, trying to focus on the movements of the wagon and get back to sleep but to no avail. So, with a small sigh, she stood.

The wagon bounced and rocked most inconveniently on the uneven trail and as Luciana's back slammed against the wall, a sharp, jagged pain tore across her shoulder, eliciting a loud hiss and a curse in her native tongue. Almost immediately, the biggest knight was beside her. "You can't go."

"I need to stretch my legs."

"You need to rest." At first Luciana thought to comply, seeing no way around the man in wit or in being, then the Woad boy stirred and a scheme occurred to her.

"You will need my mistress once more, the boy awakens."

"I shall fetch her."

"And risk leaving the boy without medical aid? Not while I am here." Luciana slipped beneath his arm and towards the opening of the wagon before he could proffer any sort of argument.

Jumping out of the wagon, Luciana swore in the ancient tongue once more as her feet hit the ground and the snow flooded into her sandals. Looking at the peasants as they shuffled past her, Luciana scolded herself for her stupidity – she should have borrowed a cloak and some boots.

"Does Dagonet know you're out here?" The snort of a horse was enough to send Luciana reeling backwards, very nearly bumping into a stray goat as she regained her footing. Hearing a loud laugh she glared up at the blond knight, the very one that had suggested Lancelot 'bed her as a free man', her cheeks flamed at the very idea of the notion of such a thing when another thought struck her.

"Who is Dagonet?" Much to Luciana's chagrin, the knight laughed once more and she suddenly realised why. So, it seemed the scarred knight now had a name. "Now that I think of it, who are you?" His laughter stopped at that point and he puffed up in indignation.

"I am Gawain," he informed her, jabbing his thumb into his chest. "What errand has Dagonet sent you on?"

For a moment Luciana considered telling Gawain that it was really none of his business, then she thought the better of it. "The little Woad has woken up and Dagonet may require my mistress' medical knowledge, I have been sent to fetch her."

"You'll freeze to death dressed like that." Despite her better judgement, Luciana was slightly touched by his concern. "I'll get your mistress; you get back in the wagon."

"I don't take orders from _you_."

"What's going on here?" Arthur intervened, placing his horse between Gawain and Luciana. Suddenly realising just who he was speaking to, he looked at Luciana. "Why aren't you in the wagon?"

"I told her that she should go back inside but she wouldn't listen to me!" Gawain yelled but when he and Arthur had turned back to look at Luciana it appeared she had wandered off.

Cursing almost continually, Luciana trudged towards her mistress' carriage, unable to ignore the searing numbness in her feet. "Stop," she told the guards beside the carriage, "I must speak with Domina." They didn't listen but, then again, the guards never did.

"Atella?" Hearing the voice, Luciana bowed her head and turned. "What's wrong?"

"The knight Dagonet requires the aid of the Domina to tend to the young boy." She didn't need to elaborate further; Alecto knew perfectly well to whom she referred. He nodded.

"I will get her for you."

Luciana dipped into a small bow. "Many thanks." Another nod and he disappeared into the wagon, only to have Fulcinia emerge moments later, rushing towards the medical wagon, her movements, for once, were completely hurried and graceless but she moved with a purpose, something that she had felt without for far too many years.

After watching her mistress disappear into the crowd of serfs, Luciana sought to make her own way back to her set of blankets in the corner of the medical wagon. "Atella." She turned and bowed once more as the young master approached her, proffering a thick woollen cloak. "You looked cold."

"You are definitely your mother's son," she muttered beneath her breath as she wrapped the cloak tightly around her shivering frame, completely oblivious to the slight scratchiness of the wool. "Much gratitude, young master."

She remained bowing until he spoke again. "I will walk with you." Nodding she began to follow him through the crowd, careful not to walk too fast, and have it seem that she was leading him, nor too slow and hinder him, it was a well-practised art among slaves. "How is your shoulder?"

"Well enough master, thank you for your concern," she answered robotically, he frowned.

After a brief lapse in conversation, he asked, "Did all these people work for my father?"

'_The word 'work' implies that they had a choice in the matter.' _She glanced across at Alecto, Marius' control over his son was fast slipping. "I should imagine so."

"And you, my father calls you a heretic?"

"I am not Christian, to your father, and to Rome, that makes me a heretic... what of it?"

"Is it not unsafe for you to work for us? We have such links with Rome."

His frank grasp of the subject caught Luciana off guard for a moment but she quickly came up with an answer, "It is no more unsafe for me in your house than it is outside of it."

* * *

Wiggling her way towards the front of the wagon, Luciana found a comfortable spot against the wall and curled herself tighter among the thick furs that she had been bundled into. To no avail, she tried to wriggle her toes within the tight bandages and spare boots which she had been forced onto her feet. Dagonet and Fulcinia had both near had a fit when they'd spotted her blue tinged skin.

"Tell me about Rome," Guinevere said suddenly, shifting within her own furs to face the Roman, startling Luciana from her previous thoughts.

"What do you want to know?" Luciana studied Guinevere for a second, watching as her gaze shifted over the crowd before landing on the back of the commander. _'More about the commander I presume.'_

"How is it different from Britain? What does Rome have that we do not?"

"Rome is no better than Britain." The Woad looked slightly relieved upon hearing it. "But it depends what you want... Rome is a beautiful place, tailored to perfection, it is difficult to compare it to Britain because both are so different."

Guinevere shook her head incredulously. "You continue to defend the people that enslaved you?"

Luciana smiled. "I was born in Rome and, no matter how cruel its people are, it shall always hold some value for me."


	4. Chapter 4

**I actually managed to update reasonably quickly - huzzah! I know I said that this would be the last chapter on the movie but this chapter would have been too long and rambly otherwise... so I've split the original chapter 4 into two parts and the next one should be along shortly. **

**Not sure I'm entirely happy with the chapter so it might well change in the future... we'll see...**

**Thanks you guys for the positive feedback on the last chapter, I'm really glad people are enjoying this story, it's one of my main inspirations for writing, and after reading each review on the last chapter I was grinning like an idiot for the rest of the day =D**

**.freedom, occali10, darkrusnik05, kvsgrl, amrawo and Admiral von Cha-Cha I really hope you guys all like this chapter! **

Mars Vigila  
Part IV

The cool night air was brisk and refreshing and Luciana could feel the rush of cold slicing through her chest as she inhaled deeply. Peeking just over the tops of the trees, the moon's silvery light illuminated the otherwise dark forest clearing. "Diana..." whispered Luciana reverently, ducking her head slightly so that her recently loosened hair fell about her face.

"What?" Jumping slightly, Luciana nearly curse as she met Lancelot's gaze, but instead she cocked her head to the side.

"You look troubled," she stated simply.

"You wouldn't understand," he sighed, waving his hand dismissively.

Luciana felt indignation flare up inside her. "Try me," she commanded, catching his gaze once more, this time he was the first to look away.

For a few moments he seemed to consider her, he wouldn't tell her the whole truth, no one should know that, but he could certainly tell her some of it. "I was supposed to be a free man by now... we were to be given our papers on the day that we were sent on this mission."

When his body went tense, Luciana instinctively took a step away from him, more aware than she had been before that these were all men who could, and had, killed. "So you feel bitter?"

"You don't know!" he suddenly yelled, throwing up his hands in frustration. "You have no idea what it's like to be taken-"

"Don't you dare tell me that I don't know what it's like to be taken away from home!" she screeched back, her eyes flashing. He opened his mouth to protest and her voice dropped to a low hiss, "At least you might one day be free."

"And you will not?" His gaze darted over her features, lingering on her bruised cheek and shoulder before returning to her eyes.

"Not unless Marius frees me, and even _you _must know how likely that is to happen." She let out a short bark of a laugh, slowly crumbling into hysterics; the sheer hopelessness of her situation hitting her full force. "It seems that the best I can hope for is death." Her mind flew back to her earlier conversation with Arthur, yes, he had said he would see what he could do for her but in all honesty, what could he do?

Not even Artorius and his famous Sarmatian knights could change some of the most ancient laws of Rome.

* * *

Following her mistress, Luciana tumbled from the wagon. Narrowly avoiding stepping on the hairpins which had fallen from her hands, she felt her anger spark at the sight which lay before them. Guards surrounded the scarred knight, Dagonet and Marius was stood in the centre of it all, holding a knife to the small boy's throat.

"No." It seemed only Luciana had heard Alecto's whisper and she placed gentle hand on his shoulder, if he hadn't been able to see his father's true colours before, then he certainly could now.

"Kill him!" Marius yelled.

Immediately, Fulcinia was on him. "No, don't! Let him go!" she cried determinedly, trying desperately to pry the dagger from his hand. He shoved her away.

"Kill him now!" Just as the guards went to close in on Dagonet, Luciana felt a rush of air brush the skin of her good arm and an arrow flew past them all, hitting Marius straight in the chest. Her master crumpled to the ground, his wife and son immediately at his side.

"After all you've done to them," Luciana seethed, just loud enough that Marius could hear her through his dying throes, "they still return to you." She inhaled deeply, slowly. "You are a lucky man."

"Artorius!" the crude knight, whom Luciana had since learned was named Bors, rode onto the scene, his axe held high in one hand, the reins of his horse tossed loosely into the other. "Do we have a problem? Huh?" he goaded, urging his horse towards the nearest pair of guards.

"You have a choice," Arthur said firmly, brandishing his own sword, "you help, or you die."

"Put down your weapons," the head guard, Marcus Minucius Audens, ordered, shortly after throwing down his own weapon. "Do it now!" Unwilling to face, not only the wrath of Artorius and his knights, but of their own leader as well, the guards dropped their swords.

As another two horses galloped towards them, Luciana was hauled to her feet by Caminus, who then placed a silver coin discreetly in her hand. "Give him the rites."

"I will do no such thing!" she snorted, loudly.

"You cannot deny him a place as a shade-"

"He does not even deserve to cross the River." She held the coin up between them, tucking it back into Caminus' hand. "Besides, our situation does not permit the full rites."

"Then do what you can," Caminus hissed, his volume heightening as he forced her hand close about the coin.

Luciana glared at him. "If it concerns you so, then _you _perform the rites."

"You know the Gods will not listen to a convert."

"The Gods will protect their followers..." She looked at Marius' corpse. "It won't matter how much coin I stuff into his fat mouth, it will not be enough to repay his debt... he will spend an eternity in Tartaru-"

"Problem?" Both Caminus and Luciana's heads snapped upwards when Tristan brought his horse to a halt beside them, his gaze was focused on Caminus.

"Nothing," Luciana informed him, slightly nervous being in such close proximity to the horse. "My friend here was merely asking me a favour."

Tristan seemed to accept that. "Help collect the swords," he told Caminus, inclining his head towards the man that was scrambling along the ground, scooping up the guards discarded weapons. Caminus nodded and then firmly placed the coin back into Luciana's grasp.

"Please."

Watching her friend walk away, Luciana smiled at Tristan then turned her attention to the coin in her hand. She huffed, loudly and then knelt beside Marius' body, fortunately the others were all far too busy trying to get moving once more.

The stench of his breath had Luciana wrinkling up her nose in disgust, rethinking her decision to comply with Caminus' request. "This is **not** for you," she informed the body. Quickly, she placed the coin beneath the deceased man's tongue then set about calling on the Manes, the spirits of the holy dead, to accept Marius into their company. Then she stood. "Short of Dis Pater's interference, you will spend eternity in Tartarus." She took a moment to glare. "And you deserve no better."

"Atella? What are you doing?"

"Nothing of great concern." Luciana turned and bowed to Alecto. "Dominus."

* * *

Sitting beside her Ornatrice, Fulcinia took a moment to marvel at Luciana's dexterity with the full use of only one hand before her mind turned back to her new situation. She was a widow, in a strange land, surrounded by people whom she didn't know if she could trust and then there was her son, her only child who had lost the home he had grown up in and his father in the space of a week.

The sound of Artorius' voice drew all their attention to the window where Alecto was sat. "I'm sorry for your loss," he sounded genuinely sympathetic.

"My father lost his way. He used to say the Church is there to help us stay on our path. It didn't help those he made suffer."

"The path he chose was beyond the reach of the Church, Alecto."

"But not of Rome. What my father believed, so Rome believes."

"What? That some men are born to be slaves? No, that isn't true." Fulcinia saw Luciana, who had previously been seemed completely uninterested in the exchange between the two, look up, smiling at Artorius.

"It is so!" Alecto responded, only half-believing what he was saying. "He told me so," he justified it to himself more than to Artorius. Before she was able to interject, Fulcinia had grabbed Luciana's arm and held her in her seat.

"He does not believe it, but what he was taught is all he has left of his father," Fulcinia whispered, waiting until Luciana nodded begrudgingly before letting go again.

"Pelagius, a man as close to me as any, is there now, teaching that all men are free, equal. And that each of us has the right to choose his own destiny." Fulcinia's gaze jumped between her son and the commander, was it possible that he didn't know?

"Teach? How? They killed Pelagius a year past. Germanius and the others were damned by his teachings. They had him excommunicated and killed. The Rome you talk of doesn't exist, except in your dreams." Their view of Artorius fell away as he brought his horse to a halt, but not before both women had caught the look in his eyes.

He looked lost.

* * *

The creaking of the ice was enough to set them all, animals and humans alike, on edge. Luciana picked her way through the crowd, leading the serf child that was clung to her over the slippery surface.

A resounding _crack _echoed about them and everyone reeled backwards.

The sound of drums reached them not too long after, steady as any heartbeat, the evenness of the rhythm was daunting. Arthur came to a halt and turned to his men. "Knights..."

"Well I'm tired of running," Bors began, "and these Saxons are so close behind my arse is hurtin'."

Arthur looked to Tristan next. "Never liked looking over my shoulder anyway."

"Be a pleasure to put an end to this racket."

"And finally get a look at the bastards."

"Here. Now," concluded Dagonet, stepping forwards. Soon after there was a surge of movement around them and arrows were swiftly being unrolled and presented to the warriors.

"Your seven against two hundred?" Ganis, the serf, asked of Arthur.

"Eight." Luciana gaped at Guinevere as she stepped forwards. "You could use another bow."

"Luciana," Caminus whispered, the slight incline of her head was the only sign that she had heard him. "You could invo-"

"I plan to..." she stumbled forwards when the child surged from her grip, her hands moving to wrap around two items within the pocket of her cloak.

"I could help! I could fight!" he yelled eagerly to Arthur, far too young to realise how much of a distraction he was and would be should they allow him to stay.

"Dion!" she scolded, skidding across the ice to catch up to the fleeter-footed child. "You cannot-"

Arthur held up his hand to silence her and then knelt before the child. "You must stay with the other group and protect them."

"Dion! Where are you?" the child's mother yelled, wasting no time in grabbing her son, despite his loud protests, to the carriage where the other child, mainly those not yet old enough to be obedient, had been tossed, left to the care of the Lady Fulcinia.

"Artorius," Luciana said, placing a hand on his arm to draw his attention. "Is there anything-"

"No... the best you can do now is go back with the others and ensure that Alecto and your mistress make it to the wall."

Luciana's lips tightened into a thin line. "Then may the Gods protect you." She met the gazes of each of the others. "May the Gods protect all of you." With that, she hurried back to the others, hoping that it would not be the last time she saw Guinevere, Artorius and the Sarmatian knights.

* * *

"Atella?" Caminus asked, poking his head into the carriage, wincing when she glared and then shushed him. Initially he had thought to argue with her, then he saw the idol and the knife. "You appease him with you own blood?"

She didn't reply at first, instead creating a small incision on her wrist with such precision that Caminus easily assumed it was not the last time she had done so. "When the correct sacrifice is not available and the true rituals cannot be performed, this is the next best thing." She allowed the blood to run down her fingers before spattering the idol with it, not caring at all that the red trickle was creating a rather noticeable stain on her skirt.

"Is it-"

"No," she hissed, before bending forwards in prayer, she spoke so quickly and so quietly that Caminus could only detect the occasional word. "Mars Vigila, Mars awaken... protect Artorius and his knights, by your divine mercy alone will they live... protect them great father of Rome." A few more words, another spattering of blood and it was done.

The fate of the knights lay solely in the hands of the Gods now.


	5. Chapter 5

**And here it is, the last one of the film, kinda worried about going solo after this, there's a certain safety in following the movie – just going to have to see how it goes.**

**Admiral von Cha-Cha and kvsgrl, thanks so much for your reviews! I couldn't believe how fast you guys were, but it was a delight to see your opinions! Hopefully you'll like this chapter; I had to do a bit of shuffling around of the original after splitting the last chapter into two parts. **

**For a bit of this chapter you should know that the term 'dominus' which Luciana has been seen calling Marius before now is a general term, she acknowledges that he might be of a higher social status but doesn't place herself directly under his command with the term. To say 'my lord' and accept someone as a personal superior and master, the term 'Domine' was used, I did try to incorporate it into the writing but it seemed to detract quite a bit from the surrounding section when I did, but I promise I tried. **

**Sorry about the ending as well, I just couldn't help myself...**

Mars Vigila  
Part V

A small number of them had strayed to the back of the ungainly procession, in the hopes of being the first to see the knights returning, but, when the sound of hoof-beats finally reached them, they were all too scared to turn, to see who – and more importantly, who hadn't – returned.

Silently, Luciana counted the sounds... there were definitely seven horses but... they were moving slowly. Too slowly to all be carrying healthy riders...

In the same instant that the thought had struck her, she had turned on her heel and was rushing towards them, a few of her fellow stragglers following close behind her. Arthur surveyed the small group warily as they rushed to meet the knights. "I told you all to move on."

"We did," Caminus pointed out, "just at a much slower rate than everyone else."

The glares he received from both Arthur and Luciana would have been enough to make any man quake; it was just not the time for Caminus' poor attempts at humour.

"What happened?" Luciana gasped, rushing to the side of Dagonet, who was splayed abhorrently over the back of his horse. She gently touched his hand, only to recoil quickly, he was cold, _ice _cold. She went on to study his blood-soaked clothes and the three arrows which protruded from his side.

"He saved us all," Arthur explained quickly and Luciana didn't need to see the solemn nod of the others to believe him. She had not known the scarred knight for long, had barely spoken more than ten words to him, but there was definitely something more to be said for the stoic giant who could care so tenderly for the sick and wound, who could meet a child for the first time and, without any hesitation, treat him like a son.

"The arrows will need to be extracted as soon as possible," her voice had become eerily calm, her pragmatic tendencies overtaking all emotion.

"It cannot be done here."

"The cold will not help him though." She turned to all the other stragglers. "Remove your cloaks; he needs to be kept as warm as possible." Her own cloak was already off and she was making quick work of wrapping it around Dagonet's body, careful not to aggravate the open wounds any further.

They would need to move quickly if Dagonet was to survive.

* * *

Dagonet's death seemed imminent by the time they had reached the Wall, his body had stopped its violent shaking but the loss of so much blood meant that he was barely brushing consciousness and the moment he dropped away from them would be the moment he was lost forever.

Peering around the wagon, Luciana ducked out of sight when she saw the Bishop Naius Germanius look in her direction, she wanted to help the knights, but she wasn't sure if she could risk being seen by him. _'It has been years,' _she tried to rationalise to herself. _'He probably won't even remember me.'_

'_They broke you,' _another voice rasped from the deepest recesses of her mind, one that normally only managed to creep up on her in the dead of night. _'You would have laughed at him once, greeted him with a cheery smile and a blessing from the Gods... now look at you... scared, obedient...'_

'_I no longer have Marius' pride to protect me-'_

'_COWARD!' _it roared. _'... You're pathetic.'_

"I'm not," she protested, not even realising that she had said it aloud until the youngest knight, she presumed his name to be Galahad, gave her an odd glance. Shrugging it off easily enough, she continued walking, careful to avoid the direct gaze of the Bishop as she made to help the sudden flurry of people who had appeared beside Dagonet.

As the injured knight was escorted away from the scene and into the healer's chambers, Germanius surveyed the serfs, Rome simply could not support the transport of all of them, but their fate was not really his concern. He summoned one of the guards over with a simple gesture. "Bring me the Lady Fulcinia," he said, keeping his gaze firmly locked on one of the crowd. "I want to know why they didn't burn the girl when it was commanded."

"_Is that it?" the Bishop Germanius asked of Marius Honorius, arching a brow when he saw the cause of all the commotion, a girl, little more than a child, was being lashed. _

_Another swift crack of the whip brought a spattering of her young blood to their feet, bright red and shining gruesomely in the noon light of Rome. _

_Yet another lashing and she howled... with laughter._

"_You will all rot in Tartarus," she screeched as another deep score was torn in her flesh. _

"_In Tartarus?" Germanius spluttered. "She's-"_

"_A pagan," hissed Marius, disgust obvious in his tone and expression. "It is why she is being lashed."_

"_Admit your offence!" the guard ordered as her threw salt onto her wounds, wincing slightly when he heard her resulting cry. _

"_I have done nothing wrong!" she screamed, before her gaze zeroed in on Marius and the Bishop. She tried to scrabble towards them, but was only just stopped by the tight bindings which held her securely to the two posts in the middle of the courtyard. "It is __**you**__! You have turned you back on the very Gods which gave Rome its empire!" The whip began to strike at her back once more. "Now they have abandoned you and the empire has crumbled!"_

_The Bishop caught her gaze and he reeled backwards, what he saw there was not mere defiance or even hatred, but someone teetering on the edge of madness, slowly drowning in their own lunacy._

_Another crack, another tear, another screech... but she would not break._

"_She should be burned!" Germanius began to retreat from the scene, Marius close behind him. _

"_But then she will die thinking that she has beaten me- us, the Church... she is breaking, slowly but surely she is-"_

"_She will pollute the minds of those around her... even you are being drawn into her trap... she is dragging you to the brink of insanity!" Marius shrank back from the Bishop. "And if one of them has been missed then how many others must there be!"_

"_They-"_

"_Are vermin! Hideous creatures waiting to overthrow Rome!" Finally he took a moment to somewhat compose himself. "In the name of the Holy Father, and of Rome itself, I order you-"_

"_But-"_

"_Burn the heretic!"  
_

An agonised sound erupted from within the nearby room as Arthur paced up and down the corridor, Dagonet had saved them all, had been willing to give his own life to ensure that they all survived...

Arthur didn't know if he could face losing another of his men.

He supposed that was the reason he always waited outside in these circumstances, perhaps he worried that the moment he left would be the moment they died.

The shake of his head was decidedly firm, he was thinking too much into things again.

"Artorius, you will wear a groove in the floor if you continue like that." Luciana approached quietly, holding a piping hot bowl of broth in one hand and a jug of hot water in the other. "Could you open the door for me?" Jumping slightly, Arthur held open the door for her, smiling half-heartedly as she nodded her thanks. Moments later she had emerged. "You should rest."

He shook his head. "I cannot, if-"

"If something goes wrong then he shall have the healers here for him, there is nothing you could do and you won't be any good to your men tomorrow if you do not sleep tonight."

He either didn't hear or chose not to listen and, given the deathly silence of the corridor, Luciana guessed it to be the latter. "How did you know what to do? We had never thought that the cold could cause such a violent reaction, we assumed it was because of the wounds."

"One of the other slaves fell into the nearby lake last winter and contracted the cold illness," she explained, "the healer employed at the time dealt with her in such a way... I didn't even know I had remembered the event until I saw your knight."

"Thank-"

She held up her hand. "You shouldn't make so much out of so little, his life is not yet saved and all I did wrap a few extra cloaks around him..." And, in all honesty, it was all she had done, the real danger had always lain in the three arrows in Dagonet's side, the ones he was having extracted as Luciana and Arthur spoke.

Luciana went to turn away, but Arthur stopped her with a stern word. "What happened to your wrist?"

"Nothing of great importance," she replied quickly before trying once more to leave. Her snarl was feral when he grabbed her wrist and gave it a small squeeze. Blood soon appeared through the thin bandage.

"Did one of the guards do this?"

"What? No, no! I..." she paused, her mind working frantically to find some way of avoiding the truth. "I did this to myself." Luciana almost drew back when anger sparked in his eyes and she knew she would have to work quickly if she was to have any hope of placating him. "Even at their most merciful, the Gods demand blood for such a great miracle. It seemed the only way of aiding your survival."

If nothing else, that had made him stop for a moment and think over her words. "It wasn't necessary."

Indignation churned in Luciana's very core, he made it sound like her invocation, the appeasement she had offered of her own life-blood, had meant nothing. "How do you know that?" she snapped, her nostrils flaring as she squared up to him. "How do you know what would have happened had I not awakened Mars?" Her voice fell low again, resentment hidden in her tone. "Would _your _god have shown the mercy that _mine _did?"

Even as his jaw clenched, she did not back down, she simply did not fear Artorius as she might have another Roman commander, he was a good man who felt indebted to her and, although she knew she would fell slightly guilty about it, she would use both of those things to her advantage if she ever needed to do so.

* * *

After cursing loudly at the hindrance of her long skirts, Luciana continued hurrying forwards towards the large gathering of people beside the gates. "What is it?" she asked everyone; men, women, children, anyone who was capable of giving her an answer.

The answer she received was always the same. "Saxons."

The word alone was enough to send a child through Luciana; she had heard of the Saxons, how could she not have? They were infamous after all, if for no other reason but their sheer cold-blooded brutality.

Arthur and Guinevere brushed past her and she followed them soon after, racing up the stone steps two at a time.

The sight that met her would be forever scorched on her psyche.

Saxons, thousands of them, were fast approaching, the smoke of their torches billowing into the already dark sky.

They were as good as dead.

Before she could ever register what was happening, Arthur had stomped past her, Lancelot close behind him. A few moments later, Guinevere had appeared by her side. "Luciana?"

It took a while, but Luciana eventually awakened from her terrified musings, her eyes focusing instantly on Guinevere. "Hm?" she sounded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Are you alright?"

Without thinking, Luciana nodded. "Of course..." She bit her lip, not even wincing as she tore some of the skin, quite enjoying the coppery taste of blood on her tongue. "What will you do?" she asked Guinevere, following the Woad as she descended the stairs, walking straight into the panic at the bottom.

"I will stay and fight," Guinevere replied simply, with a small shrug. "It is not in our nature to run."

Luciana chose to ignore the implication that it was in _her _nature to run. "You speak as though I am a different species."

"You are Roman, you might as well be."

Luciana couldn't help but grin. "As is Artorius..." she commented, following Guinevere's gaze to the commander as he walked out of the stables, looking completely defeated.

"He is half-Briton."

A knowing smirk curved Luciana's lips. "And I suppose that half makes all the difference, does it?" She went on to completely ignore the quick glare that Guinevere shot at her. "Maybe you should go and 'talk' to him again."

* * *

"What's happening here?" Arthur commanded, striding towards the struggle in the midst of the people, who were all scrambling to pack away some of their possessions in the limited number of carriages.

Two guards were holding Luciana's arms out, trying to push her head down and make her kneel before Bishop Germanius. It was a baptism; hastily prepared and set to only be partially executed but the purpose was clear, they would make Luciana a traitor in the eyes of her own Gods and hurt her in a way that physical torture never could.

"Let her go," he commanded simply, ignoring Luciana's wide-eyed glance in his direction. She had certainly not been expecting his help after what she had said to him earlier. When the guards ignored him, Arthur drew his sword and took a step towards them. "Let her go, now."

Unceremoniously, Luciana was dropped to the ground, the pain in her bad shoulder slowly dissolving into a steady, but not unbearable, ache. As the Bishop and his men swept away, Luciana pushed herself to her feet, almost ashamed to meet Arthur's gaze. "Thank you," she said sincerely. He gave her no sign that he had heard her and instead walked away from her, abandoning her amongst the rush.

All hope of salvation seemed lost in that moment.

"You argued?" the voice was quiet and, in Luciana's mind, quite welcome.

She looked up at Tristan for a short while before folding her arms lightly across her chest, blankly ignoring the small twinge in her shoulder which followed. "What makes you think that?"

"Arthur..." Tristan tilted his head in the general direction of his commander. "He's annoyed."

"The colour visibly drained from Luciana's cheeks. "I might have offended him..." she offered vaguely before cracking under the scout's firm gaze. "We were discussing the small matter of religion."

Discussion probably wasn't the right word for it; it implied that they hadn't been hurling insults at one another at every possible opportunity.

A sudden bark of laughter caught Luciana and Tristan off-guard. "I wouldn't speak to Arthur about religion, he'll never listen," the tone of his voice was incredibly bitter and Luciana frowned. She looked to Tristan for an answer but received nothing in return.

She scowled, "Is he-"

"He is staying to fight," Lancelot interrupted. "Which means that we must all stay and fight with him-"

"Is that why you're so bitter?" Luciana snapped quickly, shrinking away from he as he urged his horse closer and glared at her. "You are a free man, you have no obligation to stay and fight."

"We have always fought for Arthur," Tristan told her and she watched as his gaze settled on the wagon in which an unconscious Dagonet was being tended to, before Tristan and Lancelot both looked at one another, under the stern gaze of the scout, the anger seemed to melt away from Lancelot's very being. "And we will die fighting for Arthur."

* * *

"You want to stay?" Alecto yelled, his voice loud enough even in the din of the knight's departure to draw the attention of those surrounding them.

Luciana nodded. "Yes."

"But you could die-"

"Certain death awaits me in Rome," she explained, "or worse... the Bishop Germanius has already tried to convert me once this morning and if either you or your mother try to protect me then they will burn the both of you as heretics, regardless of whether or not you are a favourite of the Pope." She waited until the information had visibly sunk in before she boldly grabbed Alecto's shoulders, forcing him to look at her. "It is better for us all if I stay here."

Alecto soon looked away. "Why did you even ask? If it were my father you would have just-"

"I would never have run away," she told him through gritted teeth. "Never," she repeated, as Fulcinia stared dumbfounded at her.

It was back, the darkness was back.

"You may go," Alecto told her, "but I will write to you-"

"If someone were to-"

"I will tell them I am writing to a Christian... someone who chose to stay and bring the faith to the Britons." Luciana frowned but didn't protest. "And I want you to write back to me, I want to learn more about my father."

"You knew your father," she said softly, "you knew the very best of him, and that is all a son should know." She took a deep breath. "But I will always reply, whenever you write to me, just make sure you don't get yourself in any danger."

"I will." She went to turn away, but a thought occurred to Alecto. "Atella... here..." he handed her some coins in a small bag. "In case you need it."

"He is your son Domina." Luciana turned her attention to Fulcinia, surprised when she hugged her. No more words needed to be exchanged between the two after that. As the carriage rolled away, Luciana shouted to them one last time. "Thank you, Domine."

* * *

"Mama... will he come home?" the small child asked, burying his head into his mother's skirts. The sight was enough to break Luciana's heart, the fat tears spilling down the cheeks of the child and his siblings whilst his mother only just managed to cling to her composure.

"He will," the red-headed woman said with sincere conviction, "he always does."

"They have the blessing of the Gods upon them," Luciana blurted out, her eyes bulging when they all looked to her. She didn't know what had possessed her to speak, discomfort perhaps? She tried to turn away and speak to one of the other women who had chosen to stay behind, but the red-headed woman cornered her.

"The Gods?"

"Luciana nodded sheepishly. "The Gods of Rome-"

"Arthur's god?"

"No, the ancient Gods and Goddesses of Rome." The bemusement on the faces of the woman and her children might have been funny in a different situation. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have said anything..." Before the red-head could reply, Luciana had marched away, searching for her chest among the hurriedly discarded luggage of those who had chosen at the last minute to stay behind.

"Excuse me," a chirpy voice chimed as Luciana picked through the various statues and ornaments in her chest. Luciana turned to see a young girl with bright grey eyes and the same deep red hair as the woman she had seen before. "Is there something wrong?"

"No..." she replied innocently. "It's just... you told my mother that there were gods looking over my father and his friends."

"Your father is one of the knights?"

The girl nodded eagerly. "His name's Bors..."

"Ah... yes, I've met your father." She grimaced slightly, trying unsuccessfully to picture the bald knight with the red-head. _'Let's hope that they have all inherited their mother's hair.'_

"Are you Tristan's woman?"

"What?" Luciana choked out, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"I saw you together earlier... before he left-"

"I am **not **Tristan's woman," Luciana cut in, far more sharply than she had intended. "I'm sorry," she told the child, but the girl didn't seem to have taken any offence. Trying to change the subject, she added, "What is your name?"

"My parents call me Four."

"Four?" The girl nodded eagerly, her messy auburn braid jumping on and off her shoulder as she did so. "Alright then... I'm Luciana."

Four beamed at her and Luciana couldn't help but smile back. "You're looking for something."

"Shouldn't you be getting back to your mother?"

"No, she told me to come and make sure you were alright... what are you looking for?"

"A statue." In an instant, Four was by her side, rummaging through the trunk.

"What does it look like?" she asked as she picked through the statues, handling each one with extraordinary care.

"It is a man," Luciana began as she knelt beside Four on the grass, "in full roman armour, you have seen Artorius- Arthur's armour, haven't you?"

Her brow furrowing, Four nodded before diving into the box, searching for several seconds before she pulled one of the more recently wrapped bundles from amongst the others. "Is this him?"

"Yes," Luciana whispered in pure reverence, gently unwrapping the idol and placing it atop her trunk. "This is Mars," she continued to whisper, slightly surprised when the child mimicked her tone.

"He looks strong."

"He is," Luciana told her enthusiastically, "he is the father of all Romans, he will lead your father and the other knights to victory against the Saxons provided-" Luciana just stopped short of clapping her hand over her mouth. _'I cannot afford to make enemies here... how can I possibly explain to her that her father will only survive if something is offered in return?'_

The shouts of the Woads in their first attack reached them both suddenly and Four grabbed hold of Luciana, burying her face into her skirts and wailing in fear. For a moment, Luciana remained completely still, her hands hung lamely at her sides.

At first she was unsure of what to do, then she remembered those times long since past when she had aided her mother with the care of her younger siblings and, more out of instinct than knowledge, she held the child tight, rocking her gently and whispering gentle nonsense until Four fell quiet.

Luciana continued to hold onto the child long after she had fallen silent; focusing on someone else's despair seemed the easiest way to ignore her own. Knowing that she could not pray properly or perform a sacrifice with Four there, she merely closed her eyes and fell into determined prayer. _'Please... I beg of you Gods of Rome, I am and always have been your faithful servant... please; I beseech you, save them. Mars Gradivus, walk before them, lead them forwards, Victoria, great goddess, grant them victory here today...'_

In her mind, Luciana prayed directly to each and every God and Goddess that she knew, had she had the time she would have made the proper sacrifices, would have performed the dances and rituals of Mars' priests to invoke his divine empowerment, would have found the Saxon gods and found some way to draw their favour from their people and onto Artorius' army...

In the near distance, the battle was raging; it was too late to do anything now.

* * *

Dagonet had awoken shortly after the battle had ended, having been roused from his deep slumber by the screams of a wounded Woad as he was dragged towards the nearest available medic. He grabbed the nearest person he could find, to ask them what was happening, when he noticed that he had caught Luciana, who had a smudge of blood smeared across her cheek. "What-what-" he croaked, struggling to speak, in an instant she had one hand supporting his head with the other holding a cup of water to his lips.

"There was a battle," she explained, once Dagonet had had his fill of water, "the Saxons attacked as the Roman forces left." Dagonet's guilty expression prompted Luciana to babble on. "The battle was won, but the death count would have been so much higher had the Saxons managed to cross the ice that day, had you not saved us."

He paused for a moment, "Arthur-"

"Is perfectly well-"

"And-"

"And the others are all still alive," she told him calmly, firmly pressing on his shoulders and forcing him to lie back down, "but you still need to rest." She waited until his eyes had closed before moving on to the next person.

Another shout sounded from the other end of the room and Luciana didn't need to look to know that Lancelot was being pinned down through another delirium, nor did she need to see it to know that Tristan was suffering quietly in the bed opposite him. They had been barely alive when they had been brought in after the battle three days earlier and, although their wounds seemed to have begun healing, they had both been caught by the fever. Luciana shook her head to clear her thoughts and then continued with her assigned duties.

It didn't look good for either of them.

* * *

Although he still wobbled unsteadily on his feet, Lancelot refused to spend any more time in that damned infirmary, he had already been in there a month!

Apparently he had been the closest call, the fever racking his body into delusions whilst Tristan had narrowly escaped its full devastating effects. "Luciana!" he called out when he spotted her, then pulled himself up the stone steps to the top of the wall.

Initially she frowned at him. "You should be back in the infirmary," she told him as she jumped down from her seat on the edge of the wall. The two stared one another down before she conceded and smiled. "It is good to see you well again though."

"I hear that you had a part in saving me-"

"I brought you water when you needed it and helped to pin you down during a few of your worst visions."

"Anything to get a hold of me, hm?" He smirked at her then went on to inwardly congratulate himself when Luciana's cheeks turned a light pink, even after a near-death experience and a month in an infirmary, he still hadn't lost his charm.

"Yes, I think that must have been it," she replied with a breathy laugh, before silently cursing herself. _'Complexity is not conducive to survival,' _she told herself, _'and developing some childish crush on the arrogant oaf will only complicate things.'_

When she looked back to Lancelot, he was the one that was frowning. "I thought you would have been on your way to Rome by now," he spoke without looking at her, focusing instead on the movement of Woads all over Badon Hill.

"To face certain death? No, there was always more hope for survival here."

They remained silent for a while, then Lancelot spoke once more, "That bishop said Rome accepted our Sarmatian beliefs as innocent."

He hadn't asked a question, but the meaning was still clear. "That is because you are all barbarians and know now better," she told him, smiling fleetingly when she caught his scowl, "_I _am Roman, they expect more of me than overt herecy."

"I don't think I will ever understand Rome," Lancelot exclaimed, shaking his head and leaning against the wall.

"Neither do most Romans," she sighed in response, when next she glanced at him; she found he had turned to her, his intense gaze freezing her to the spot. "What?"

"Is that boy still here?"

"_Alecto _should be halfway to Rome by now."

"And your mistress?"

"What mistress?" she responded with a coy smile, turning away from him and back to the view. "I am a free woman now."


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks so much to everyone for your reviews; Nikel's lover, kvsgrl, random reviewer and Admiral von Cha-Cha, as always reading your thoughts on the story made my day and Randomness – sorry! **

**I hope you all had a fantastic Christmas, although it seems a bit redundant now this far into January... still, best wishes to you all for the New Year all the same. **

**Right, first chapter on my own, I've got to admit, it's a bit scary and this chapter might be a bit slow so it can act as a link between the movie and the plot, but hopefully you'll all like it, I'm not too certain on the ending but it'll have to do for now while I can't think of anything else. **

**Well, here goes...**

Mars Vigila  
Part VI

"I see," Lancelot sounded, with an equally devious smile of his own. "So tell me, what do you plan on doing first with your new found freedom?"

Just as he reached forwards to stroke the exposed skin of her upper arm, she rushed past him, hoping he hadn't seen the sudden colouring of her cheeks. _'Stop acting like a child!' _she mentally scolded herself, before taking a deep breath in a renewed attempt to regain her composure. "Well, it was certainly a difficult decision to make," she began, focusing on modulating her tone, "but I believe that drinking myself stupid is the best choice."

"I'll join you-"

She turned quickly on her heel to face him. "No you won't-"

"I'll be fine-"

"Look at you! You can barely stand upright as it is," she reasoned loudly, finding it very easy for once to ignore that blasted, arrogant smirk of his. "_You_ are going back to the infirmary."

In turn, he crossed his arms and stood to his full height, purposefully making her feel small; as touching as Luciana's concern might have been, he did not appreciate being spoken to like a child. "I don't take orders from _you_... and the wound isn't that- ah!" He glared menacingly at her when she poked him in the chest; her small, triumphant smirk was nothing short of infuriating.

"A good night's sleep will do you wonders," she said sagely, ushering him in the general direction of the infirmary.

"The healers have said that I can move back into my own rooms," he paused for a moment to drape an arm about her shoulders, leaning on her heavily so she wouldn't move away. "Care to join me?"

Luciana made a sound of pure annoyance, baffled by the speed at which he switched between serious conversation and playful flirtation. Suddenly, he stopped, "Vanora?"

"Stop bothering the poor girl Lancelot," came the aggravated new voice, just moments before Bors' lover had come to a halt before them, hands on her hips and brandishing a large spoon. Luciana laughed loudly as Lancelot visibly recoiled.

"What?" he snapped.

She was laughing too much to speak completely coherently, "You... one of the famous Sarmatian knights... is scared of a... of a spoon!" Soon enough, both Luciana and Vanora were laughing heartily at Lancelot's expense.

He scowled at them before an idea popped into his head and, with alarming quickness, he stepped behind Luciana. "Protect me," he said in a mockingly meek voice, resting his chin on her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her waist, immediately she began to struggle.

"Get off!" she protested loudly as she felt her cheeks heat up. The two of them together served only to further Vanora's amusement.

"Mama!" a small girl shouted as she rushed up to her mother. Instantly, Luciana recognised the girl as Four, and began trying more frantically to pry off the knight, all the while being careful not to hit the half-healed wound on his chest.

During the short while in which mother and child conversed, Luciana dared to hope that Four would not notice her, but the Gods were obviously not feeling particularly kind that day. "Luciana!" Four greeted her cheerfully, stopping short of an embrace in favour of staring at Lancelot. "Oh..." the child sounded thoughtfully, "so you're _Lancelot's _woman then."

"Wha-"

"Of course she is," Lancelot interceded smoothly, moving to nuzzle Luciana's neck.

"No I'm not!" Slamming her foot down on the knight's, Luciana finally got Lancelot to release his hold on her. "I am _nobody's _woman."

* * *

Seated at the small table to the side of the royal bedchamber, Guinevere sighed irritably when she spotted Luciana and Arthur talking animatedly to one another through slightly open doors.

She wasn't entirely sure why it bothered her so much, there was absolutely _no _logical reason why she should feel so – she was loathed to admit it – _jealous_.

In the two months that she and Arthur had been married, he had proven himself to be a devoted and attentive husband and Luciana was not only a loyal friend, but also a valued member of the royal household.

The pair of them burst out laughing and Guinevere felt a pang of anger stir in the pit of her stomach. She had never liked it, had even begun to hate it, when the two of them spoke to one another in Latin so incredibly fast, so impossibly fluent, that she as a Woad could never possibly hope to keep up.

This occurrence had – much to the Queen's chagrin – become part of the daily routine.

Another couple of minutes and Luciana wandered into the room, chuckling to herself until she caught the look on Guinevere's face. "Something wrong?"

"You're not normally this late."

"No, but I made the mistake of drinking with the knights last night and I've only just recovered," Luciana's small laugh was obviously fake, but she didn't much feel like going into any detail about the pounding headache that still racked her skull.

"Aila told me that you were awake an hour ago."

Luciana rolled her eyes; she had very little time for Aila, the girl grated her nerves simply by existing. "And I was, but I needed to pay proper tribute." Guinevere shook her head slightly but pursued the matter no further; there was absolutely no point in arguing with Luciana about her gods. "Now... what is really the matter?"

Jumping slightly at having been caught out, Guinevere stared at Luciana for a long moment over her shoulder before sighing heavily and turning back to the mirror. "He never speaks to me like that." It was spoken as a statement, but there was no disguising the question in Guinevere's tone.

"We are two Romans in Briton-"

"Arthur is half-Briton-"

"Rome has been the predominant influence in his life for many years... he simply says that it is nice to hear someone else speaking Latin-"

"His knights and I speak Latin-"

"Guinevere," Luciana's tone was firm, "Artorius and I are in quite a similar situation-"

The expression on Guinevere's face was purely incredulous, "No you're not-"

"We are both trapped in a land whose customs and religion we cannot relate to, dreaming of a Rome which has long since been destroyed, a place which, even if it did exist, we could never return to now for fear of death... how would you feel if that was you? If you were a lone stranger in another man's land?"

Guinevere thought about it for a moment, she didn't enjoy feeling like a child being scolded, but the feeling of being chastened doused the sudden flare of indignity. "Alone," she answered eventually, "I would feel alone."

"Artorius loves you," Luciana told her friend, "but-"

"I cannot understand his situation."

"And nor can I completely... When Artorius and I speak, we only talk of Rome, of the festivals held there and events and people long since passed, speaking about it keeps us linked to Rome-"

"Rome has betrayed you both!"

"It is still home..." Luciana sighed, mildly annoyed. "I don't know how I can make you understand."

Guinevere huffed loudly and they fell into a silence and while Guinevere shifted uncomfortably in the awkwardness, Luciana seemed quite happy as she continued to diligently curl the Queen's hair. "I hear that you have been spending a lot of time with the knights lately," Guinevere caved in eventually.

"No more time than I have spent with you or anyone else."

"Not from what I hear." Guinevere turned to Luciana, nearly burning her cheek on the calamistrum in Luciana's hand. "Vanora's child-"

"Four," interrupted Luciana, her aggravation made clear by her tone.

"Yes, that one, she told me that she has seen you with both Tristan _and _Lancelot... and then Aila told me that she had seen you and Lancelot heading to his rooms last night." Luciana's eyes narrowed in scrutiny of the Woad, at her own mention of Lancelot, Guinevere's posture had stiffened and...

Was that _worry _in her eyes?

"He had drunk himself into a stupor," Luciana shrugged, "as had all the other knights; I was the only one able to walk far enough to help him." Guinevere's smile was sweet but the occasional twitch of her lips and the small exhale which followed betrayed her relief. Luciana's eyes suddenly widened...

What was going on between Lancelot and Guinevere?

* * *

Having finally run out of duties, Luciana began to wander through the forests just north of the Wall. She no longer felt the effects of her alcohol intake the night before, but she still didn't quite feel right...

Was it something to do with Guinevere and Lancelot?

No, of course not, why would that bother her? They were two adults; they could choose to do as they wished.

That was, if they were doing anything at all.

'_Don't over-think it,' _she told herself, _'don't get too caught up in it all, just stay focused on being free, don't even get involved.'_

But what if they were doing something?

For several seconds, Luciana continued to march forwards, completely ignorant of the dark clouds overhead, far too caught up in her thoughts for her own good. She wondered why it should even bother her so mu- at all, if Lancelot and Guinevere were indeed pursuing a relationship.

Guinevere was her friend; she didn't want to see her get hurt? No. That wasn't it at all. Guinevere _was_ her friend, but she was old enough to deal with her own mistakes.

Lancelot was her... what was Lancelot to her exactly? She supposed that they were friends, in the most basic sense of the term but she would not fool herself into thinking that they were particularly close... nor could she pretend that she wasn't attracted to him. _'I doubt there are many women here who aren't,' _she surmised quickly.

Still, she had no intention of attempting any king of romantic relationship with him, after all, his reputation practically _forbade_ it.

Luciana sighed; maybe she was just _jealous_...

'_I wonder if Artorius has noticed anything.'_ The second the thought struck her, she jumped slightly. _Artorius_. How would he feel if he found out his wife and best friend were lusting after one another?

That must have been it; the only reason that the situation – if there even was a situation – bothered her at all was because of Artorius. He was her friend _so_, she didn't want to see him hurt and _so_, it annoyed her.

Now she was just lying to herself.

With a loud huff, Luciana plonked herself down on some tree roots and buried her face in her hands. Everything was too complicated; she had had too much complexity in her life already.

She just wanted things to be _simple_ for once.

A twig snapped nearby and Luciana leapt up from her position of the floor, looking about wildly until she spotted Tristan slowly moving his foot away from the newly broken twig. _'Of course,' _she thought, _'I didn't know he was there until he wanted me to know.' _Waiting until her heart slowed to a more normal rate, she smiled meekly at him. "How do you do that?"

Something akin to a smile ghosted across the scout's lips, "Practise."

"Are you out for a walk?"

"I was looking for you."

"Oh." Feeling the blush creep back onto her cheeks, Luciana looked at their feet, focusing all of her attention on the twig and hoping beyond all hope that, for once, Tristan wouldn't notice something. Inwardly, she began to chant, _'Not him as well, not him as well, not him as well...' _

One knight, she could avoid, but two? That would surely border on the impossible, at least at Hadrian's Wall.

"You have been missing for hours, Arthur sent me to find you."

Luciana smiled at the mention of her friend, but kept his gaze firmly on the ground. "Wait... how did you find me?"

In response, Tristan gave a low whistle and held out his arm, a moment or two passed and the hawk dropped from the sky, landing nimbly on his sleeve. "I had some help."

"I thought you let her go." Tentatively, but of her own accord, Luciana extended her hand towards the bird, and gently smoothed its feathers.

He shrugged. "She came back." Then he turned his attention to the sky. "It will rain soon."

"Jupiter Pluvius," she muttered beneath her breath. "God of rain," she went on to clarify, when he glanced sideways at her.

In one sleek, practised movement, Tristan tossed his arm upwards, sending the magnificent bird into flight once more. "How many gods do you worship?" His tone was playful... it was mildly unnerving.

"That I could name right now? More than eighty I think."

His eyes widened slightly, but only for a moment. "Eighty?"

"Yes," she smiled, "a lot, I know."

"And you worship them daily?" As Tristan struck up a conversation – with Luciana eyeing him suspiciously all the while – they began to walk back in, what Luciana presumed to be, the direction of the Wall.

"Mainly they are venerated alone, on specific days with specific rituals, or when a favour is to be asked of them, but I worship my Lares at least once a day, often more now that I can openly worship."

"Lares?"

"Household- I am _not _getting on that thing!" She pointed an accusatory finger towards Tristan's horse, whose nose he had begun to stroke soothingly. "I can walk back."

"That would take hours; you would end up in the rain-"

"Then I'll get wet!" Luciana pronounced, slowly inching further and further away from Tristan and the wretched beast. Above them the hawk was circling.

"Arthur told me to find you-"

"Which you did-"

"And bring you back to the fort-"

"Then tell him to- what are you doing? No! Tristan don't- don't you dare- ah!" With a heavy sigh, and an unnatural amount of ease, Tristan vaulted onto the horse and then hauled Luciana on behind him. To prevent her from simply jumping off again, he urged his horse forwards.

After getting over the initial shock of what he had done, Luciana curled her fists into the back of Tristan's shirt of what he had done, Luciana curled her fists into the back of Tristan's shirt, determined that if she were to fall then she would at least take him down with her. "This is no way to treat a woman..." she grumbled, hoping to make him feel guilty.

"I'll leave the charming to Lancelot," he replied, arching a brow when her clutch on his shirt tightened. "Something wrong?"

"Nothing," she muttered, putting some more space between the two of them by rearranging her skirts.

A few strides later, the horse suddenly surged forwards and Luciana screamed loudly, yelling profanities and abuse at Tristan, words that he had only before heard coming from a very drunken Bors.

"It's not so bad," he assured her, reaching behind to pat her gently on the arm and using the same tone that she had heard him use with nervous animals.

As they approached the Wall and slowed back to a walk, Luciana felt an involuntary sigh of relief escape her and her muscles all simultaneously relaxed. As they made their way back to the stables, she sought to catch her breath and rested her head on his back.

"Don't ever do that again," she commanded.

Then the rain began.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello.**

**Sorry for the delay, I'm really not the best for updating am I? But I tend to just go through phases where I could write for days and then I have several weeks where I can't write a single thing... **

**Anyway, I'm not too sure on this chapter... I hadn't actually planned the ending to be the way it is and I'm just wondering if it fits in alright... **

**We'll have to see. **

**I know it's really short as well, but the next chapter can go one of two ways and I can't really decide between the two, so I'm really sorry about that!**

**VampWolf92, Allison, .318 – thanks for the reviews on chapter 6! **

**And . snow0, thank you so much for the review and the message! **

Mars Vigila  
Part VII

The heavy rainfall continued for four days before coming to an abrupt halt. For a few hours, the people thought it safe to venture outside once more. Then the storms began.

Wind and rain barraged Hadrian's Wall while the rolling sound of thunder set an unsteady rhythm which sent children crying to their mothers and wives fleeing to their husbands.

So it was really no surprise that, when Luciana made her way outside, she was all alone.

With full enthusiasm, she stood atop the Wall with her arms spread so that she could fully embrace Tempestes. "I don't fear you," she told the goddess, even as she wobbled unsteadily on the Wall, her hair whipped into wild tangles about her face. Even as the rain began to soak through her skin, she continued with her plea, "But we have suffered here long enough, please, stop this."

The second Luciana closed her eyes; she regretted it, in her mind's eye she saw her younger sister curled up in the corner of the shrine, cowering away from the goddess and her terrible storms.

"_AH!" the horrified shriek was enough to rouse only one of the room's occupants from their fitful slumber. Luciana slid easily from beneath the covers – careful not to wake her two sisters, with whom she shared the small bed – and padded silently out of the room, pausing for a moment to rub the sleep from her half-closed eyes. _

"_Gaia?" she whispered as she wandered through their small, rudimentary villa. There was nothing particularly special about where they lived, it was far too small a space for such a large family, but they got by and, although they had neither heating nor a water system, the ludus in which their worked was just a short walk away. _

_In fact, the only extraordinary place in their home was what would have been the peristylium, the colonnaded garden, which they had converted into a shrine to their gods, to the Dii Consentes and the family's own Lares._

_Wandering through the open-top section of the peristylium, Luciana ignored the drops of rain as they fell atop her head and clung to her messy hair. "Gaia?" she continued to call. A flash of lightning appeared in the distance and Luciana heard a yelp. "Gaia!"_

_The small girl, who was curled beneath the figure of Diana, looked up at her older sister, her tear-stained cheeks illuminated by another shard of lightning piercing the dark skies. "I'm scared."_

_With a small sigh, Luciana settled herself beside Gaia, pulling her sister into a tight embrace before gently rocking her back and forth. "I know... I know... shush now, easy now... the Gods will always protect us, we have no reason to fear Tempestes."_

"_But-"_

"_No buts, just calm down."_

_For a long time, the two sisters sat in silence, only the sound of thunder and the pattering of rain disturbed the quiet. Finally, Gaia had settled enough to ask, "Are you really leaving tomorrow?"_

_Gently, as well as fighting her own tears, Luciana wiped a tear from Gaia's cheek. "I am, but you'll be fine. You'll have Decima and Tiberia-"_

"_I don't want Decima and Tiberia!"_

_Luciana frowned. "They are our sisters."_

"_But they never talk to me!"_

_Seeing Gaia's escalating distress, Luciana's tone immediately dropped to one of gentle reassurance. "Easy now, I will not be too far away and my new..." she trailed off and took a moment to swallow her pride, "my new master seems like a kind man, I'm sure you could visit me sometime."_

Gaia had tried, but she had never made it to the villa.

All too clearly, Luciana could see the tiny body crumpled at the edge of the road, left behind by the passing robbers who had unashamedly stolen the young girl's few precious possessions in the midst of the dreadful storm.

The left half of Gaia's face had been smashed in with a jagged rock, her skin torn from the skull and her left eye gouged from its socket. Somehow though, the right side of her face had remained unmarred, the one blue eye left behind to gaze up at Luciana, its glossy stare was Gaia's silent accusation.

_I was braving the storm for you... and you killed me._

A single tear slipped down Luciana's cheek before she managed to rein in her emotions, she had never allowed such weakness in Rome, nor would she allow it in Britain.

There was a slight shuffling behind her and then a strong hand on her arm, pulling her down from the edge of the wall. "Dagonet?" she asked, her mind still settled firmly in the past, she was completely unaware of the severe trembling of her body in the cold.

He nodded firmly and then gripped her arm once more. "Follow me," he told her and, as though he knew that she would protest, he began to drag her along behind him. It was a marvel really, that even in such a weak state he was still so ludicrously strong.

With Luciana not putting up much resistance, it was only a matter of minutes before they were inside the makeshift dining hall of Hadrian's Wall, over the past few days it had stayed mostly empty, most people preferring the safety of their own rooms, but today it seemed that Arthur had decided it would be a good place for a meeting with his knights.

"Dagonet?" Arthur asked, before he caught sight of Luciana. "What happened?"

"I went for a walk," Luciana interceded smoothly as she moved away from Dagonet, the rain had made it especially easy for her to slide out of his grasp.

"It's raining!" Lancelot proclaimed loudly.

Scoffing, Luciana gestured to her soaked attire, "I'm well aware of that, thank you Lancelot."

"Why were you outside?" Arthur asked as he stepped in front of her, grabbing her shoulders and searching her expression.

"I wished to speak with Tempestes." Inwardly, Luciana smirked; Arthur never thought to question her religious beliefs, not anymore.

"It looked like you were about to jump," Dagonet commented.

Luciana's eyes widened when Arthur's grip on her shoulders immediately tightened. "I-I wasn't!" She prised herself from Arthur's grip and looked about at the knights, meeting each of their sympathetic gazes with an almost feral look of her own. "I had no intention of jumping!" She could hear Arthur speaking to her, could hear the knights murmuring to one another, but all the voices sounded far away, out of her reach.

Tearing her mind away from the conversation, Luciana's vision blurred with tears and tiredness as she stared down at her shaking hands. She could remember feeling like this before and unfortunately in Britain it was becoming an increasingly common occurrence. There was something about the storms, something about them that sent her hurtling back into insanity.

Fulcinia had always called them her 'mad phases', her 'funny little turns', but they both knew that it was not as light-hearted as that. What Luciana would fall into was not simply a mild madness, but a deep pit of lunacy and despair that made her reckless to a fault. It was something she had managed to fight off in the past, she would not be herself for a few days then she would move on, continuing with life as though nothing had happened, but she feared she was growing weaker...

She did not know how much longer she could battle the insanity.

'_I don't want to die,' _she told herself, _'not when I have only just been allowed to live.'_

"Lancelot." Hearing the knight's name, Luciana's head shot up. "Escort Luciana to her room," he ordered, before turning to the woman in question. "You are not to leave until you are better."

He had expected a fight, had prepared himself for screaming and yelling and cursing, so he was completely taken aback when Luciana simply nodded. "It should only take a few days... once Tempestes has settled."

Arthur's features softened and he placed his hand on Luciana's shoulder again, gently this time, companionably. "You have not been yourself since the storms began."

"They remind me too much of the past..." She did not say it, but Arthur could see it in her eyes, it was not that the storms reminded her of her past, but of her past regrets.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello everybody! Well, I apologise for the lack of stuff in this chapter but I needed to work out some kinks and this was the product. I'm not so happy with the ending but hopefully it'll fit in alright. I'm so sorry for the amount of time I take updating, I start these stories with the best of intentions but then life gets in the way. **

**Chances are this chapter in particular is going to be redone but hopefully it's going to be alright for now. **

**To jui, alien.94, VampWolf92, .snow0 and .318, thanks so much for reviewing on chapter 7 you guys, this one's for you!**

Mars Vigila  
Part VIII

A week later and the storms had most certainly subsided. People once more dared to leave the Wall and go about their business, rebuilding the small parts of their lives that had been damaged by Tempestes.

Only Luciana stayed locked away in her room.

Whistling low, Tristan summoned the hawk to him and was mildly surprised when she ignored his call. Instead, she chose to circle the Wall, moving concentrically about the rooms in which Luciana was known to stay. "Gwalchmai," he called with another whistle and the hawk finally came swopping down, landing softly on his wrist and sticking out her head so that Tristan might stroke her feathers.

Even as he whispered soothingly to the bird, his eyes remained trained on Luciana's window, searching for any sign of movement as he wondered if he would see her that day. It was unlikely of course; the only people that had seen her during her confinement had been Vanora, Guinevere and Arthur.

During the first day, it had been easy for them all to stay away, but over the next few days many of them had become curious to see how their friend was faring. Tristan had often found himself searching for a reason to wander through that particular part of the Wall. He had even gone so far as to send Gwalchmai down there, just so he could 'chase' after her.

"Tristan?"

Turning quickly, Tristan scowled when he spotted Vanora, who in turn looked very confused – it was nigh impossible to catch the scout off-guard. Tristan nodded curtly. "Vanora."

The red-head shifted her gaze away from the scout and up towards the Wall. "She should be out in a few days."

He didn't respond to that, verbally or otherwise, but Vanora still smiled at him and went on her way.

Only when she was gone did he smile.

* * *

"Lancelot," she called to him and he turned on his heel to meet her, offering his most devastating smile. The Queen, his best friend's wife, stood before him, a small smile playing on her lips as she strode boldly towards him.

"Guinevere," he responded smoothly, despite the small niggling feeling of guilt in the back of his mind. She took another step towards him, so that they were inappropriately close, and he only just resisted the urge to step back.

Lancelot couldn't understand it. What was stopping him? Wasn't this the woman that he had lusted after for the past year?

He thought back over their journey, when he thought he had fallen in love with her but instead of brown eyes and dark-blonde hair, he thought only of masses of black curls and sharp blue-green eyes.

... No... perhaps this was not the woman he had thought he loved.

The Queen of the Britons looked upon his handsome face with complete befuddlement, she had perhaps been wrong about his affections for her. "What is it?" she asked him, taking a step back.

"Arthur is like my brother, this is wrong."

"That has never seemed to be an issue before-"

"There is a difference between looking at someone and bedding them-"

"There is another reason." Guinevere's eyes narrowed. "Who is she?"

He did his best to look confused. "Who?"

"Don't try and play games with me Lancelot," she barked at him, her arms folding defensively over her chest. "You are chasing after another woman."

Lancelot thought about retaliating for a moment, writing off her claim as a complete lie, but found that he couldn't bring himself to do so.

For the first time since their meeting, Lancelot turned his back on Guinevere.

He strode away from her with guilt suddenly weighing him down. He had almost betrayed Arthur, his commander, a man as good as his _brother_. Arthur had been busy building his new kingdom, inadvertently neglecting his wife in the process, and Lancelot had sought to take advantage of her!

Lancelot was furious with himself, but the worst part was that it was not just his near-betrayal of Arthur that was affecting him so. Whenever he thought about what had transpired between Guinevere and himself, he couldn't help but wonder what _she_ would think if she knew...?

Without even realising it, Lancelot had come to a halt outside Luciana's door.

* * *

Feeling the rage possess her once more, Luciana walked over to the chest in the corner of her room and threw it open, carelessly rummaging amongst the spare fabric and old letters before finally finding what she was looking for.

Her tituli.

The placard that had been placed about her neck on the day she had been taken to the slave auction had stayed with her for years. It had told the buyers everything they needed to know about her – her near insignificant height, her lack of weight, her name, her origins, her tender age of twelve.

_Disobedient..._

That word, hastily engraved as it had been, was still there, glaring at her, taunting her. She had been ashamed of that word once, had done everything in her power to try and prove the trader wrong.

There had been no real need to disobey with her first master; the kindly man had always sought to reward obedience, instead of punishing disobedience. A firm believer in the ancient gods himself, he had allowed her to worship and had even given her time to visit her family home. He had also educated her thoroughly, not only reading and writing and history but in the ways of the Romans, how to survive in their society.

She had had no problems in obeying him.

Of course, things had changed when she had been sold on to Marius. She had needed to employ all those skills that her first master had taught her just to survive. She had become disobedient, knowing that the only way to remain in a secure position would be to challenge Marius, he had never been one to turn away from a challenge.

At least, not a challenge that he thought he could win.

With the tears now flowing freely, Luciana screamed and grabbed the tituli, smashing it against the wall as thoroughly as she could, stomping the pieces and not registering the pain of them snatching and tearing at the skin of her feet.

Somewhere far away, she could her hear door being forced open and heavy footsteps marching towards her. She felt a pair of arms grab hold of her and screamed louder, "LET GO!"

"Luciana," his voice remained mostly steady, there was the smallest hint of panic under the surface, "calm down."

"LET GO OF ME!" she yelled hysterically, twisting and turning in his grasp, clawing at his arms as he tried to restrain her. For several minutes, she continued to kick and thrash, the tears obstructing her view of his face as she took a swipe at it.

He only just managed to move out of the way.

Finally, seeing there was no escape, Luciana went limp and he moved to sit at the edge of her bed, with Luciana perched on his knee. Her entire body shook and she curled up again, crying. Lancelot really had no idea what to do, normally the women in his company weren't weeping.

Vaguely, he could recall seeing one of Bors' daughters in a similar state; the older knight had placed the child on his knee and stroked her hair until she had quietened down. He didn't know if that would work with a woman not so much younger than himself, but it was the only idea he had. Uncertainly, awkwardly, he began stroking her hair and, sure enough, she quickly fell silent and then fell asleep.

_The crush of bodies, the stench of sweat, the deafening noise._

_That was the reality of the slave auctions. _

_With wide eyes, Luciana looked about the room before a sudden surge of slaves behind her forced her up against the wooden bars of their cage. She gasped sharply as she found herself wedged between two of the bars and began to squirm desperately. _

_She couldn't breathe._

"_HEY!" one of the slave traders – the same man that had bought her from her parents – shouted. "GET BACK IN THERE!"_

_She wanted to obey, but the bars prevented her from doing so. _

_With a yell of annoyance, the trader placed his hand on her head and shoved her backwards. Luciana whimpered pitifully as the wood splintered about her form and lightly pierced the soft skin of her belly, but he took no notice. He yanked the placard from about her neck, only to throw it back at her several minutes later. _

_The word 'disobedient' had been clearly etched into the tituli._

"_No," she called out, "I'm not..." Her bright eyes stung with tears and she wrapped her arms around her small body. _

"_Don't be so weak girl," an old woman crooned beside her. Instantly, Luciana did as she was told, blinking back tears until the sensation was gone. Staring at the ground, she noticed that the woman's left foot was whitened with chalk, and that could only mean one thing..._

_She was one of the spoils of war._

_Pouting, Luciana chose to stare dead ahead, not liking the feeling of the woman's scrutinising stare on her profile. "I don't like it here."_

_The woman looked her up and down. "You will not be here for long. A pretty young thing like you will go fast."_

_Looking quickly about the buyers, Luciana shook her head vigorously. "I'm not sure I like that either..."_

* * *

After having been startled awake the next morning by someone clattering about outside her room, Luciana grabbed the small cup off the side and downed its contents in one; it was a vile but effective mixture that Vanora had given her to keep the pains at bay. The worst of the madness was gone by this point and the headaches had become tolerable and intermittent.

She had spent a few days curled up on the floor, she wasn't entirely sure for her own reasoning behind that. In truth, the past few days had been a blur for her, a blur of rage and sorrow and guilt. Luciana inspected her knuckles; two of her fingers were bandaged from a blind rage in which she had tried to hit the wall and had instead dislocated her fingers.

She felt better though; lighter, ready to return to reality once more.

Sitting up and wriggling over to the side of her bed, Luciana slipped the dress from her shoulders before twisting her hair into a more manageable braid and moving it easily out of the way. Taking a deep breath, she glanced at her back.

There was the true testament to her life of slavery.

Her gaze followed the deep lines that marred her skin, winding and curling about her back in a hideous pattern of crimson welts and partially faded lines.

Out of instinct, her hand flew to her side and her fingertips traced the curve of one of the scars, over the flare of her hip and then inward towards the centre of her stomach. It had been a particularly bad set of lashings and Marius himself had delivered the blow. She had tried to dive out of the way at the last moment, only to have the whip curl around her side and catch the far more sensitive skin of her stomach.

Bile rose in Luciana's throat – she hated those scars.

Guinevere had spotted them the last time she had visited and Luciana had been forced to stand there as her friend scrutinised them before offering a meagre attempt at reassurance. She had shown Luciana her own scars, the remnants of a life on the battlefield.

"_Yours are the mark of a warrior,"_ Luciana had told her, _"mine are the mark of a slave."_

"You heard I was coming then." The second she heard his voice, Luciana twisted herself round to hide her scars, hurriedly pulling her dress back over her torso.

"Lancelot," she sighed exasperatedly, a faint blush adorning her cheeks. "Is the concept of knocking really too difficult for you to grasp?"

The smile fell from his lips. "You look better-"

"Half-dressed? Yes, I can imagine I do to you."

He rolled his eyes. "There is more colour in your cheeks... you look healthier."

Realising that she was overreacting slightly, Luciana sighed and relaxed, the tension visibly dropping from her shoulders. "Did... did you see anything...?"

Lancelot frowned at her. "What do you mean? I didn't see your-"

"No, no," she interrupted quickly, "it doesn't matter, I was just wondering."

He was not accustomed to such awkward silences as the one that settled between them at that moment and he searched his mind for something suitably witty to say.

Nothing.

"Was there a reason you came to see me Lancelot?"

"Yes, I... I just wanted to make sure you were feeling better... after yesterday."

"Yesterday?" She frowned for a moment. "Oh right, yesterday." She remembered all too clearly now how she had yelled at him, kicked him, screamed at him then broken down crying before falling asleep in his arms.

She only wished she could forget.


	9. Chapter 9

**Right, feel free to throw things at me, as the worst updater ever I deserve it. Writers block is an absolute nightmare. **

**On a more positive note, a big thanks to lena, .snow0, Gwilwillith, Fluro-Highlighter and kvsgrl for their reviews on chapter 8! Love you guys!**

Mars Vigila  
Part IX

"Artorius?" Letting herself into Arthur's private study, Luciana was not in the least bit surprised to see that he was pacing back and forth in front of the large table in the centre of the room. "Does the new fortress still trouble you?"

He thought about it for a moment then shook his head. "The fortress is complete aside from the furniture and the name."

"Is that all?" she commented airily, pouring a cup of cold water and forcing it into his hands.

"No," he sighed, sitting down heavily in a nearby chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. One year as King had aged him more than a lifetime in the Roman militia.

Luciana looked down at him and frowned. "Perhaps I could help?"

His eyes shot open at the offer and Arthur took a moment to study her features. He was so used to her expression being guarded, so accustomed to watching her analyse everything that happened around her for opportunities that the earnest desire to help that he saw in her eyes came as something of a shock. Eventually, he nodded. "Perhaps..."

In response, she smiled and turned to the map, making sure the King could still see it from where he was sat. "Where is it?"

His response was automatic, "Camulodunon."

"You mean Camulodunum?" she asked with a frown, it was odd hearing Artorius use a Woad pronunciation. "The fort of Camulos?"

He sat up straight at that point. Luciana, while educated, still shouldn't have known that Camulodunum was once known to the Britons as the fort of Camulos. "How did you know that?"

Luciana winced and Arthur watched her expression become guarded once more. She was trying to figure a way out of this situation, he could tell, but they both knew he would see right through anything she tried. Manipulating Sarmatians and Woads was easy enough, but another Roman, that required a much higher level of skill.

Unfortunately, it was something Luciana, away from Roman society, had gotten out of the practise of in the past year.

She sighed; she had to answer honestly, even though he was guaranteed not to like it. "Camulos and Mars," she began slowly, noting that his expression darkened when she mentioned that great Father of Rome, "they are considered one and the same through interpretatio romana."

"Luciana..." his tone was exasperated, one an older brother might use with a rebellious younger sister.

"You chose it," she mumbled back, looking every bit the chastised ward with her arms folded across her chest. Arthur went to speak again, but Luciana beat him to it, "You know, I don't understand why your knights are allowed to openly follow the religion of their forefathers when you dislike me even _talking_ about the religion of mine."

"My knights are not as fanatical about their religion as you are about yours," he shot back at her with a small, tired glare before they fell silent again. These small disputes were nothing unusual, they had agreed to accept their differences in religion but that didn't mean the topic didn't create some difficulties in their friendship every now and again. "Camelot," Arthur suddenly said, his head snapping up so he met Luciana's gaze.

"What?"

"Camelot," he laughed, "that's what the new fortress will be called."

"Camelot..." Luciana tested the word, her anger quickly dissipating as she saw the excitement on Arthur's face; it was odd that such a small thing as a word could change his mood so drastically. "From Camulos... I like it."

He stood suddenly, moving to the desk so that he could scrawl the word onto the map. "Have you seen Guinevere? I'd like to ask her opinion on the name."

"I haven't seen her since this morning."

As quickly as his happiness had come, it was gone again and Arthur leant back heavily against the desk. "I haven't seen her since yesterday... I slept there last night," he explained lamely, waving in the direction of the chair.

Stepping forwards, Luciana placed a gentle hand on Arthur's arm. "Artorius, it's not a crime to spend time with your wife-"

He sighed, "I don't have the time-"

"The kingdom won't crumble if you spend an hour a day with Guinevere instead of your maps... and I think you'd _both_ be glad for the company." Luciana's gaze swept over the dark room before settling back on Arthur's face. "Stay here, I'll go find her."

"Take Tristan with you, you'll find her faster." With a small nod, Luciana swept from the room while Arthur slumped back in his chair; the feeling of guilt for ignoring his wife had deadened any sense of happiness he had felt for those few short seconds.

His head dropped into his hands. He could only _hope _that things would improve in Camelot.

* * *

Guinevere sighed in frustration and lined up her shot. She needed to get away for a while, away from the Wall, away from the people and away from Arthur.

Her husband had been driving her to absolute madness lately. Between state business, training his men and planning their move from Hadrian's Wall, Arthur had no time for his wife.

A sudden feeling of guilt welled up in her chest and she had to take a few deep breaths to stop the tears from falling. How could she complain about _anything_ Arthur did after she had almost bedded his best friend?

A strangled sound was wrought from her lips when she didn't quite manage to suppress her frustrated scream. It was the feeling of loneliness and the sting of Arthur's neglect that had sent her chasing after Lancelot in the first place!

She was _trying_ though, she was trying so hard to fit into Arthur's hectic little world. She was trying to speak to him, to be with him. She would often seek him out during the day, hoping to steal a precious moment or two of his time, only to be told that they would speak later. Later never came though. In the early hours of the morning he would return to her, roll into bed, kiss her cheek and then fall into a fitful slumber.

That was if he even returned to her at all.

Letting her bow and arrow clatter to the ground, Guinevere raised a hand slowly to her cheek, tracing the trail there. She was crying.

She hadn't cried in _years_.

Determined that no one should see her in such a state, she hurried away from Hadrian's Wall and into the denser forestry. All of the emotions of the past year washed over her in one almighty rush. She had gone from being a prisoner awaiting death, to a warrior alive and fighting on the battlefield, to a Queen who didn't have a place in the very court she was meant to rule over.

Arthur handled all of the state business whilst her father acted as his chief advisor.

Lancelot and the other knights were all busy training Arthur's future army, educating the Woads in the very battle strategies that had once been used against them.

Dagonet, having suffered some of the worst injuries of all the knights, had taken on the newly available position of head medic and was raising Lucan, who was his son now in all but blood.

Between them, Luciana and Vanora ruled over the servants of the Wall and, with the threat of the dreaded spoon ever-present, the servants of the royal household were far more disciplined than any Roman infantry.

Guinevere shook her head and looked up at trees that towered over her. She belonged to this land and yet she had no place in its court. She had been Queen for little over a year and yet she already seemed to be failing at it.

Once, on a particularly low day, she had sought solace in a visit to a small village nearby. The surge of people to greet her upon her arrival had bettered her mood somewhat, had made her feel needed, then they started shouting their grievances at her. Their crops were failing. There was too much rain. There was too little sun.

Shame burned Guinevere's cheeks at the memory. It had never occurred to her how the Britons saw her, how much they thought she was capable of. They honestly believed she could fix any problem they screamed at her and, when she couldn't, they would give her a look of pure disappointment that made her feel as though she had broken some great promise to them.

Still they didn't seem to realise that she couldn't mend a broken world, not even with all the tenacity that she had been blessed with.

"I brought you a cloak." Hearing the familiar voice, Guinevere turned and came face to face with Luciana, who took one look at her friend's tear-stained cheeks and sighed, shaking her head.

"Oh... thank you," she replied hollowly, continuing on with her walk.

With far too much ease for Guinevere's liking, Luciana matched her stride in a matter of moments, the cloak still tucked neatly over her arm. "Will you put it on? You look cold."

"In a moment," she snapped, strength returning to her voice for a second as she marched ahead.

Luciana rolled her eyes and pursued. She didn't like Guinevere being in such a volatile mood, it made her own position all the more precarious.

Still, it would be easily fixed. Anyone with half a mind could see what had been troubling the young Queen. Guinevere disliked the loneliness but she _hated_ feeling useless. With that thought in mind, a solution occurred to Luciana relatively quickly. She would simply employ a tried and tested tactic.

Whenever Marius' friends – the very few that he had – needed to appease their neglected wives, they would make a big show of asking their opinion on something trivial and, feeling valued, their wives would settle down. All would be well once more.

Carefully modulating her tone to one of puzzlement, Luciana admitted, "I never quite know how to deal with Four..." The slight slowing of Guinevere's pace told Luciana that she was listening. "Her interest in the old ways grows more and more each day."

Guinevere turned on her heel. "Luciana-"

"I have no intention of converting her-"

"Good!" exclaimed the Queen, staring at her friend and folding her arms across her chest. "Bors would kill you!"

She offered Guinevere a bright smile. "_Bors _doesn't scare me," she said dismissively, before her grin became a grimace, "_Vanora_ on the other hand..." she broke off when Guinevere finally laughed. Then, certain that she was on sturdier ground, Luciana pressed further, "What has been wrong with you lately? You haven't been yourself."

Guinevere _almost_ scoffed, that was an understatement. "I'm sure you know anyway."

"I'm sure I know as well," Luciana retorted, "but I should like to hear it from you all the same." She threw the cloak at the Queen's head and then, unceremoniously, sat beneath a tree, leaning heavily against the thick trunk. She patted the ground beside her. "Not exactly a throne, but better than nothing, don't you think?"

Despite herself, Guinevere smiled warily and put on the cloak, she hadn't realised that she was so cold until she was enveloped within the warmth of the extra layer. Then, she plonked herself down ungracefully beside Luciana. "How did you find me?"

"It wasn't difficult; Tristan pointed me in the right direction... Artorius sent us looking for you."

At first, Guinevere frowned at her use of Arthur's Latin name. She had tried to call him 'Artorius' once, but he had merely frowned at her, corrected her pronunciation and then gone back to his damned maps.

Still, he had noticed that she was gone and that was something in itself. A small smile curved Guinevere's lips. "I thought he would have been too busy to notice that I was gone," she said finally, wincing at how defeated she sounded, when had she become so dependent?

Luciana suppressed the urge to snort loudly and only just managed to disguise the unimpressed quirk of her brow. "Of course he noticed," she said, in a tone that was just a bit too sweet, "he wanted your opinion on the name of the new fortress," she took a moment to wet her lips, formulating the lie in her head, "he refuses to tell anyone until it has your approval."

"He does?" Guinevere grinned as she practically leapt to her feet, waiting for Luciana to do the same before rushing off back to the Wall.

'_It's a good thing they remained in Britain,' _Luciana thought to herself, _'she'd never survive in Rome.'_


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry guys, UCAS has dominated my life recently (damn you early app!) but now it's done I could get this chapter out. Anyway...**

**DOUBLE DIGITS! WOO! However, I feel I should warn you that there is a fair bit of swearing in this from the onset, I'm sorry about it but it just seemed to fit the characters and their emotions at this time. Also, not too sure on the ending, seems a bit sappy but it felt better to end it there than later on so the next chapter seems less disjointed. **

**On top of that, my Latin's not particularly good so I've had to rely on google translate for the Latin in this chapter, the "prayer" that Luciana says in this chapter was translated from:**

**With charity and love may you, be kind in all you say and do.  
May the heavens bless you from above, the starlight shine on all you love.  
Let Venus bless you and impart a lovely soul and handsome heart.  
Let peace embrace you day by day, wherever you travel, stop or stay.  
Courage be yours, life will not wait, for the twists and turns of fate.  
Wisdom be yours and insight too, to know what's what and who is who. **

**I'm not exactly sure where it's from, but it's been stuck in my head for a while so credit where credit's due for it and I'm sorry I can't give you any more exact information. **

**Gwilwillith – I'm so glad you like it and equally it only seems polite to thank you for taking the times to review, it really means so much to me to see that people are enjoying the story :) x**

**Fluro-Highlighter – Thank you! I'm glad you liked chapter 9, after reading your review I thought to focus this chapter more on Tristan and Luciana and I really hope you like it ^_^**

**Bam – So glad you like it, thanks for reviewing :)**

**Wolfie-chanLovesAnime – here we are, an update! Thanks for reviewing on the last chapter, I hope you like this one :D**

**Right, sorry for the ridiculously long AN, on with chapter 10!**

Mars Vigila  
Chapter X

"Bastards," spat Osweald, before rubbing at his scarred eye, completely ignoring the pain that lanced through his skull. He didn't even flinch as his knuckle tugged and tore the delicate tissue, sending blood trickling down his cheek and into the matted grey hair that fell over his shoulders. Hadrian's Wall could just be seen on the horizon. "They told us we'd have them all out in a week," he grumbled, "then they go and get themselves killed!"

His son-in-law, Radulf, nodded in agreement as he continued to sharpen his axe. "Lost us our army to that pup of a Roman commander..."

Osweald snarled, "Arthur," before spitting again.

"I'll slit his fucking throat," another of their comrades proclaimed, not even looking up from his own sword. There was a small gathering of them there, where the fire would have been were they not so dependent on the element of surprise. They couldn't risk the smoke being spotted by one of Arthur's men.

"Who was it that took your eye?" Radulf asked, turning to Osweald and tracing the thin line of dried blood with his gaze.

"That scout," Osweald growled beneath his breath, hatred clear in his one green eye, "and his damned hawk." He bellowed wordlessly in pure frustration and threw his sword to the ground in a fit of pure temper.

There was a murmur from those around him, they all understood his frustration. Following their defeat at Badon Hill, life had been difficult for what little remained of the Saxon forces. Not only had they suffered the humiliation of defeat, but then they had been driven north, out of Arthur's jurisdiction where their own kin maintained their rule.

They had been promise everything, but they had been left with nothing.

"Come on," Radulf said calmly, too used to his father-in-law's temper to be shocked by it. "Abrecan's expecting us."

Osweald huffed, "Fine." Then, he stood and looked back to the horizon; he could just make out the flurry of activity as Arthur's people prepared themselves for the first day of their move.

They would soon learn what it was like to lose everything.

* * *

It was an odd thing for Tristan, to leave Hadrian's Wall. He had so many memories there, both good and bad, that it seemed somehow wrong to just walk away from them all. It was scary too, he'd been so sure that he would die before the end of his fifteen years of service that he had never even considered what he might do if he lived to be a free man.

The Wall had not always been such a bad place either.

Among his very first memories of his fifteen years of service, were those days spent laughing with his brothers-in-arms, back when the idea of war – even under a Roman standard – was exciting and new and the thrill of the hunt would rush through his veins as they rode into battle.

That was before they had lost their first brother to the Woads, before the reality of their situation had come crashing down on them, before they had lost the optimistic idealism of youth.

From then on, service to the Romans had been something to endure. On occasion, they would be able to snatch a few moments of happiness from amidst the gloom, but their days slowly began to blur together into one long haze, continually tainted by the loss of more and more friends.

Hearing a woman laugh, Tristan glanced over his shoulder and saw Luciana and Four, chatting animatedly to one another. Inwardly, he smiled, careful not to watch them for too long and arouse suspicion.

Almost reluctantly, he turned back to his fellow knights, wondering if they realised that they had instinctively fallen into formation beside one another...

Probably not.

"What is he doing?" Lancelot asked Gawain suddenly, loud enough for all the others to hear. When they looked back over their shoulders, they spotted Galahad walking alongside his horse and blundering his way through a conversation with one of the girls from the tavern.

"Her name's Bronwen," Gawain chuckled, "and I _think_ he's trying to charm her."

Lancelot spluttered with laughter. "The beginnings of a great romance perhaps?"

They all burst out laughing as Galahad gestured too quickly and spooked his own horse, which then nearly trampled poor Bronwen. "If he doesn't kill her first," Tristan muttered, just loud enough for the others to hear.

As the others all broke into fits of laughter, Tristan allowed himself a small smile as his ever-analytical eyes landed upon Bronwen. It was easy to see why Galahad had developed a liking for the girl. Despite her small stature, Bronwen was curvaceous and pretty with waist-length blonde hair, sweet brown eyes and a smiling mouth.

She would suit him nicely.

Bors continued to guffaw loudly even as all the others settled down and swerved his horse closer to Lancelot's. "Speaking of great romances," he paused to point over at Luciana, "something happened?"

He responded almost _too_ smoothly, "Nothing, why?"

"Whenever you walk into a room, she walks out of it," the blond knight replied, smirking as he watched Lancelot blanch.

"You follow her round like a lovesick girl!" cackled Bors. "Was she that good?"

Tristan couldn't help but tense up. Had something happened between Lancelot and Luciana? He would be foolish to deny that there had been an attraction between the two of them, but he had hoped that they had gone no further than mere flirtation.

"When I say nothing happened between us, I meant it," Lancelot told them all firmly and, almost instantly, the tension disappeared from Tristan's shoulders.

With another furtive glance backwards, Tristan saw that Luciana was still talking to Four and – had he not so wholly wished to guard his feelings from the others – he might have gone to join them. Four had become surprisingly attached to Luciana, listening in fascination as she relayed the stories of the gods and heroes of Roman lore. He only just managed to suppress his smile.

Tristan had to admit, he quite liked her stories too.

* * *

Seeking shelter in the trees, the knights and a few others all huddled together, even Arthur had conceded to join them, his spirits dampened slightly by their slow progress. He had not wished to stop yet but, when the rain had suddenly descended upon them, he had decided it was for the best.

Luciana was settled between Dagonet and Four with the youngest of Bors and Vanora's children, Eleven, settled asleep in her arms. She called softly across the circle to Guinevere, "You can say what you like about Rome, but at least our summers last more than a week."

Guinevere merely grinned back at her before moving closer to her husband and, Luciana noticed, further away from Lancelot.

"Is there no way to make the rain stop?" Galahad muttered darkly, wrapping his cloak tighter around his body.

"Oi," Bors shouted to Luciana, ignoring his lover glaring at the back of his head when their son shifted in Luciana's arms, "tell whichever god of yours this is to bugger off back to Rome."

The Roman shot him a weak glare. "Jupiter Pluvius can go wherever he pleases," she replied haughtily, "and if _you_ think he should bugger off, then you can tell him so yourself."

"Language," Vanora hissed, glaring at Bors and then at Luciana. The two of them shared a conspiring smile but said nothing more, leaving the group to fall into quiet chatter.

From his place between Galahad and Vanora, Tristan watched Luciana react to the child in her arms as he stirred once more into a half-woken state. Instantly, Luciana moved to soothe him, whispering gently into the toddler's ear. Tristan leant forwards slightly, disguising it as huddling further into his cloak, so that he could hear what she was saying.

"Cum sis charitatis et amoris in genere omnia dicere ac facere. Ut benedicat tibi caeli desuper luceat omnibus stellis amass. Et Venus et benedicam tibi imprimis elargimur desiderabilem animae et cordis insigni. Fiat pax in dies amplecti te, quocumque ire prohiberent durare. Feugiat tuum, vitam non esxspectat contorquet et flectitur ad fati. Sed sapientia et vobis quoque qui scire quis et quis."

"What are you saying to him?" asked Guinevere, only Arthur could understand Luciana when she spoke Latin at such an inhuman speed.

"As series of prayers," Luciana began, frowning when Bors grimaced, he had never been completely comfortable with his daughter, fearing Four's conversion to the Gods of Rome. "It is one that I said for all my younger brothers and sisters and even for Alecto when he was still very young."

Bors opened his mouth to speak again but Arthur cut him off, "My father said it to me once." Luciana nodded to him and smiled, silently thanking him for his intervention.

"How many brothers and sisters do you have?" Four asked sleepily, snuggling further into her mother's skirts. "I have ten."

A small smile played on Luciana's lips. "I was the sixth of fifteen children," she recalled, "but some of them died before I came to his country..." She looked at the ground for a few moments, her smile dropping into a frown. "And I don't doubt that more of them have passed since I left."

"What were their names?"

Luciana chuckled, despite the apparent sadness behind her eyes. "It is difficult sometimes to remember them all..." She thought about it for several moments. "There was Lucius, Publius, Marca, Spurius, Manius and Appius who were all older than me... and then there was Decima, Tiberia, Vibius, Gaia and Aulus."

"That's only twelve," Four commented, frowning in confusion, "you said fifteen."

"Four," interrupted Vanora, watching as Luciana passed Eleven back to his father and then wrapped her arms around herself.

"It's alright," she replied monotonously, banishing the emotion from her expression by sheer force of will. "My brother Lucius wrote to tell me about the births of Tita, Gnaeus and Quinta... but I have never met them." She suddenly stood up. "Excuse me."

"Did I do something wrong?" Four asked worriedly as Luciana hurried away from them all and further into the shadows of the trees.

Before anyone else could react, Arthur had turned to his scout. "Follow her and make sure she doesn't hurt herself," he muttered quickly, "remain unseen unless necessary."

Nodding wordlessly, Tristan threw his own cloak about his shoulders and began to pick his way silently through the trees.

* * *

Tired of walking in her heavy, rain-sodden cloak, Luciana took refuge beneath the nearest tree, leaning wearily against its trunk and burying her face into her hands. Sighing softly, she closed her eyes and tried to collect her thoughts.

Shaking her head, she tried taking a few deep breaths to clear her mind, to get rid of the ever-growing buzz as all the memories of Rome collided with all the lies and complications of Britain.

_Too hard, it's too hard_, she admitted to herself, well aware that it was something she could never say out loud. _I want to go home._

She wanted her mother to stroke her hair and tell her that everything would be alright, that the Gods would make everything alright for them. She wanted her father to make her laugh, to pick her up and twirl her round as though she was feather-light. She wanted her brothers and sisters to pester and squabble with her and make her forget that a world existed outside their happy home.

Keeping her eyes tightly closed, she wished for the simplicity of childhood, when her main concern had been what she would do tomorrow. She screwed her eyes tighter shut.

What good would wishing do her now?

Hearing a rustle in the trees, Luciana's eyes shot open and she flinched, cursing herself for leaving her dagger back at the camp. Moments later, Tristan emerged. "Tristan," she muttered, rubbing her eyes before smoothing down her dress and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

He nodded firmly, his lips set in a thin line as he surveyed her, his gaze zeroing in on a small scratch on her arm. Without warning, he grabbed her wrist and ran a calloused thumb gently over the wound. "A scratch," he surmised. "You should clean it back at the camp."

"I suppose Artorius sent you after me," she replied casually, doing her best to appear as though she hadn't just been longing for home. It was no good though, she had never been able to fool Tristan.

She doubted anyone could.

Cautiously, she took a step towards him with a small smile, noting that he still had hold of her arm. Eventually, he nodded. "He wanted to make sure you wouldn't do yourself any harm."

Almost instantly, her smile fell. "Oh," she sounded. In the back of her mind, a voice told her that Lancelot would have offered her a charming smile and told her that he personally had wanted to keep her safe in that half-joking manner that was endearing as it was infuriating.

"You look nice with your hair down," Tristan offered gruffly and Luciana's gaze shot up to meet his. She smiled at him, even as he averted his gaze and dropped her arm. They stood there, facing one another for several moments until Tristan edged towards her again. "I-"

"Remind me again why we have to wait until dawn?" The low grumbled alerted the scout to the presence of someone nearby. He listened to the sound of the footfalls, there were two men approaching, neither of them familiar to him.

Tristan cursed beneath his breath and moved a step deeper into the forestry, pressing himself into the trunk of the tree. Realising that the Roman woman, lacking his years of training, hadn't noticed what was happening, he grabbed Luciana and pulled her to him. His arm about her waist kept her secured firmly against him, her back pressed to his chest.

Getting over the shock of the sudden movement, Luciana went to ask Tristan what was going on, only to have him clamp his free hand over her mouth. "Someone's coming," he whispered. Luciana's eyes widened and she leant back against Tristan, trusting him to conceal them both in the shadows.

Soon enough, two men emerged from the trees, chattering meaninglessly as they scouted out the area with their swords drawn. Luciana could scarce hear the strangers' conversation with the sound of her heart pounding against her ribcage. She clung to him as the men moved closer, hacking away at the branches nearby.

Tristan felt her cold touch against his arm and moved slowly to grab both of her hand in one of his, using his other arm to keep her still. Inexorably, so as not to disturb the foliage covering them, he bent slightly to whisper in her ear. "Do you trust me?"


	11. Chapter 11

**I really have no excuse for being such a terrible updater. I just fell a bit out of love with the story and it became very difficult for me to write but here we have the next chapter of Mars Vigila and I hope you all enjoy it. **

**Also, Luciana's views about Christianity (which may become more apparent from here onwards) aren't meant to be taken offensively nor are they my own views but they are the views that I believe someone in her situation would hold at this time. **

**Thanks to all these guys for reviewing the last chapter:**

**WolfieLovesSilently - thank you for your review and for your message, after reading it I realised that I really owed it to you all to try and get another chapter out and consequently wrote this. So I really hope you like it. **

**VampWolf92 – I'm sorry or leaving you hanging for so long! Hopefully this chapter's alright though.**

**Gwilwillith – I couldn't imagine doing UCAS twice, it is the embodiment of evil. I'm glad you liked the last chapter and I'm hoping that you like this one too.**

**CSHarrison – thanks for your review! I'm having a bit of trouble at the moment figuring out who Luciana should end up with so it's good to know what you think as a reader.**

**Mhunter – here is more for you, I'm just so sorry it took so long for me to get this new chapter out to you.**

Mars Vigila  
Chapter XI

Luciana frowned at Tristan's words. What moronic thing was he planning on doing if he needed to ask her _that_?

"Luciana," he said, more urgently now, "do you trust me?"

Did she trust him?

She nodded. At that moment, she _had_ to trust him. She couldn't face two armed Saxons on her own; Tristan was her only hope of surviving.

He nodded grimly before pushing her hard out of his grasp, sending her sprawling to the floor a good few feet away. The air was knocked loudly from her body as she hit the cold, saturated ground, unable to prepare her body in time for the unexpected impact.

"What was that?" one of the strangers growled, taking a heavy step in Luciana's direction. She tried to stagger to her feet but there was no breath left in her lungs and, as soon as she had gotten up, she found herself on the floor once more.

"Animal?" the other one replied, also moving closer.

"Didn't sound like any animal I know..."

Luciana looked to Tristan imploringly, silently pleading for his help but he merely stared at her blankly and stood perfectly still, hidden away from all but the one person who already knew he was there, obscured completely by the shadows.

Finally, she managed to take a deep gulp of the cool autumn air, shivering at the feeling of its brisk evening chill in her chest. For a second she thought about running but knew that she could not do so on such unsteady legs. Even if she could run, where would she go? She did not know the way back to camp, how could she be sure that she wouldn't just into more Saxons?

Patting her side, she felt the small dagger she kept there and drew it quickly from its old sheathe, wetting her lips with her tongue as she did so. The old blade was made for rituals but it was all she had. If she was going to die, she decided, she would not go without a good fight.

She had been through too much to just give away her life now.

The footsteps continued to approach and Luciana – fuelled by a potent mixture of fear and adrenalin – heaved herself up onto her unsteady feet and began to slowly step backwards, doing her best not to disturb the damp foliage at her feet and give away her exact position.

_Gods help me..._ Luciana's gaze flickered upwards for a moment as she prayed. _I have been your humbled servant, please, let me live and continue to serve you..._

A muffled shout sounded out before her, then another, then two dull thuds in quick succession. A hand fell through the nearby bushes with a small twitch and Luciana had to clap her hand over her mouth to stop her startled scream. Her frightened gaze darted to Tristan's hiding place.

He wasn't there.

Then, without warning, the scout appeared beside Luciana. Acting purely on instinct, she took a swing at him with the dagger, aiming for whatever she could reach. He stepped deftly out of her way and then quirked a brow at her behaviour.

"We don't have much time," he told her quietly, seemingly unfazed by the entire ordeal. "We need to warn the others." He turned on his heel and began to move, picking his way effortlessly back through the dense forestry.

"Who were they?" said Luciana, her breathing shallow as she attempted to keep up with Tristan's near inhuman pace.

"Saxons," he replied simply, knowing it would be enough of a reason to run.

* * *

"What took you so long?" Arthur asked when the pair finally emerged from the trees. He looked worriedly at Luciana.

She tried to answer but her breath was still short, "Two... two Saxons... both dead but..."

Seeing the Roman woman was struggling, Tristan continued, "They're both dead but the camp's nearby... could be an ambush."

Arthur cursed under his breath and the knights all looked between one another. "We need to get everyone out of the way before the Saxons launch their attack," the King said decisively, standing up alongside his knights, "we continue north as quickly as we can, we'll use the hills as shelter for the wagons and then fight the Saxons downhill for the advantage." He looked to Tristan. "How many?"

"Couldn't say exactly," Tristan replied quickly before tilting his head towards Luciana. Arthur nodded. "Hundred maybe."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Bors said gruffly, passing his children back over to his lover.

"Don't underestimate them," Arthur responded sharply, "there could be more."

"And they have nothing to lose," Galahad said.

"And everything to gain," added Gawain.

Nodding as he received his orders to help prepare the newly trained Woads for war, Lancelot couldn't help but glance sideways at Luciana, she was shaking. He placed a hand companionably on her shoulder and smiled at her grimly when she looked up at him, certain that the others could draw nothing but camaraderie from the action.

Her breathing still shallow, Luciana was grateful for the comforting weight of Lancelot's hand on her shoulder. She knew it must seem odd to him, to see her so terrified – even in the throes of insanity she had not been so cowardly – but, ashamed though she was to admit it, the Saxons terrified her.

She knew how to survive, but only in Rome.

In Rome, she had had to talk her way out of every single situation she had gotten herself into and while she had got the occasional whipping, she could always guarantee that she would live to see the next day. With the Saxons, things were different. They would kill anything they saw as an enemy; simply talking her way out would never be an option.

In Britain, it seemed to her that strength would always triumph over intelligence.

* * *

Kneeling before the statue in the back of the wagon, Luciana prayed fervently before the statue of Mars, taking care not to alert anyone to what she was doing. "Bring them back to us, we cannot build a kingdom without a king," she muttered, her head bowed in reverence as she pulled the knife and held it over her wrist. Her hands were perfectly steady above the bowl at Mars' feet. "Do ut des, I give so you will give."

She brought the blade down against her skin but, before she could make the incision, she was interrupted, "If you must pray for anyone's survival, pray for your own. I'm surprised you have any blood left in you."

Snapping her head to the side, Luciana looked over her shoulder at Lancelot, eyeing the seriousness of his gaze and the tenseness of his stance for a few moments before she placed the knife down beside the bowl. "I need to invoke Mars," she told him, her mouth dry and her eyes wide.

"Have your gods always demanded blood?"

"At least they do so openly, instead of hiding behind the disguise of mercy," she let the bitter words slip before she could stop them and she froze for a moment, waiting for the reprimand. When she didn't receive any, she shifted to face Lancelot. "They are normally given the blood of animals," she said carefully, modulating her tone, "but I cannot perform a proper sacrifice when I have neither the resources nor the support to do so." She frowned, she had long hated that her faith was so tempered by practicality.

"So you give them your blood instead?" He stalked forwards and then knelt before her, much closer than he actually needed to be. She nodded. "Why?"

Luciana opened her mouth to speak before shutting it promptly once more and trying to think of a better answer to give. The last time they had both been alone together, Lancelot had had to restrain her as she clawed and kicked at him. "To make sure you all survive."

He smiled a small, rueful smile and grabbed her wrist, holding firm when she tried to pull away. "I've survived many battles without the help of your gods." He chose not to pay attention to the glare Luciana shot at him.

"How do you know that they weren't helping you?" she shot back. Without replying, Lancelot pushed her sleeve back to expose her wrist and ran his thumb over the scars there. Luciana moved nervously under his analysis. "I know they're ugly..."

While he couldn't bring himself to correct her, Lancelot did bring one of her wrists up to his eye level. "How can you do this to yourself?" He glanced up at her and was thankful to see that he had caught her on one of those rare occasions when her guard was down.

"Have you never believed in anything so much that you would give anything for it?"

"Not any god, no," he answered truthfully, still looking down at her scars. Although he would not admit it to her, he had spotted some of the scars on her back and they had angered and sickened him in equal measure. Just thinking about it made the bile rise in his throat.

How could the Romans do something so horrific? How could they just mark one of their own as though they were nothing?

After Luciana had fallen asleep that day, he had stormed out of the room and forced a group of the younger Woads that had been placed under his tutelage into training and he had thoroughly battered each and every one of them. Thinking back on it, he felt guilty but he just hadn't been able to still his hand at the time...

These scars were different though.

Instead of angering him, the scars that striped her wrist in neat little lines confused and saddened him. He had always seen the whole hearted devotion that Arthur had to his god as a plague on his friend's mind and now he could see that Luciana's faith was equally terrifying in its depths. Even with all the suffering and pain; she willingly gave her blood to her gods.

Lancelot was not like Arthur or Luciana. He needed something more tangible to believe in. His life would not be in vain, he was determined that he would never devote it to someone or something that may or may not exist. During his service to the Roman's he had put his faith into those papers, the knowledge that attaining them would allow him safe passage to his beloved homeland. Now, he placed his faith completely in Arthur, in the belief that, if anyone could make something of that hellish island, it would be his friend.

Seeing that Luciana was looking at him sceptically, he let go of her wrist and got up once more. "Don't pray for me," he told her, "I won't need it."

He was not capable of blind faith but that didn't mean he didn't have any faith at all.


	12. Chapter 12

**Well, it's been a while (SORRY!) but here's chapter 12. I hope you like it. I've gotten myself into a bit of a mess with this story. Originally, it was meant to be Lancelot/OC with just a bit of interest from Tristan thrown in but then I started writing it and it went in an entirely different direction so now I'm every bit as confused about who Luciana will end up with as she is... I'm just hoping that if I carry on writing it will work itself out. **

**aWarrior213 – I'm glad you're enjoying it. I'm just really sorry I'm so terrible at updating! As for the cutting, I can promise that it's not going on for much longer.**

**KissingThorn – I'm really sorry for making you wait! I just hope that this chapter and the subsequent chapters are worth it!**

**Fluro-Highlighter – I hope you enjoy this chapter too! Not sure whether or not you'll like the ending. **

**Kristall – I really am such a terrible updater... feel free to throw pointy things at me. The next one shouldn't take too long though because I've already written out half of it. **

**Mhunter – I know the feeling about having no brain function about chapters! It happens to me all the time! And I know it's overdue but I shall have a gander now at those stories you mentioned!**

**VampWolf92 – Thank you!**

**WolfieBurnsTheNight – Thank you for your review!**

**Gwilwillith – It's very overdue but I hope you had a good Christmas and that the New Year's going well for you! I'm so glad you liked the depth in the last chapter; I'm trying hard to add more depth into my work. **

**Yeah, so, all you guys are awesome and all I can say really is thank you so much for reviewing! And I'm really sorry you have to put up with me and my ramblings and such! **

Mars Vigila  
Chapter XII

"Everyone's safe," reported Gawain, glancing back over his shoulder at the wagons as they turned towards their destination, Dagonet and a small group of Woads at its head.

"Woads are ready too," Bors added with a chuckle, "don't know how much use they'll be but..."

Hearing the thundering of hooves, Arthur watched Tristan racing up the verge. "What are their numbers?" he asked as the scout came to a halt beside them.

"Not many, mostly untrained by well-armed... they're moving towards the trees there."

Arthur nodded and, focusing on the trees below them, found himself able to pick out a spattering of men amongst the foliage. "They're most likely to be men who lost someone at Badon Hill," he told them all, "they're looking for revenge but they've almost certainly been poorly trained."

"No soldiers?" one of the Woads piped up.

"Civilians wouldn't have thought to gather everyone into an ambush. They'll have someone with them, a strategist that's familiar with us; he probably fought at Badon Hill himself... Be on your guard, someone has planned this."

"What's our plan?" Galahad interjected and the group all looked to Arthur, awaiting his orders.

The king thought about it carefully for a moment. "We split into three. Gawain, take the right. Tristan, the left. Arm yourselves with bows and aim to filter them inward. The rest will follow me further up onto the ridge and cut through the ones that make it past the arrows."

The other knights all nodded and Gawain and Tristan moved out with their own men, muddled groups of Woads and Romans. These groups looked to each of their leaders for guidance and, in times of danger, they all looked to Arthur to show them the way.

Lancelot waited as the others slipped away, nodding curtly at his friend in their old ritual, each of them noting the tiredness in one another's eyes. They would win this, he was certain. At this point, they couldn't afford to lose.

It wasn't just their lives on the line anymore; they had a kingdom to protect now.

Seeing Gawain and Tristan move out to the side with their units, Lancelot pulled his swords from their sheaths, thankful that he had thought to sharpen them well before they had begun their journey to the new settlement. His gaze scanned their opponents as they emerged from the trees with a well-earned ease. They were largely disorganised, fuelled by anger without a coherent thought between them.

If they had a leader, he was gone now.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lancelot spotted one of the younger lads in his unit glancing nervously at him. "Don't worry," he reassured the boy, "they're looking for blood. They're not thinking about what they're doing." His voice was quiet but firm and he watched the boy steady himself with a small smile and an approving nod.

Hopefully, the fighting wouldn't last much longer.

* * *

The largest knight, whilst still a formidable opponent, still often suffered with the wounds he had received on the ice and, while he would never regret what he had done that day, the others all knew that it would never be easy for him to see his brothers riding off into battle without him.

Luciana stared up at Dagonet, craning her neck to do so. "You risked your life for them, they do not wish to see you hurt again," she said lamely, knowing that those few, useless words were all she could offer him.

"I don't want to see them hurt again either," he responded, his tone so gruff that Luciana immediately went quiet. She never knew quite how to deal with Dagonet, he had never given enough away about himself to provide her with any leverage.

Feeling nervous, Luciana's hand jumped to her left wrist, her fingers twitching as she brushed the raised scars there. She had not performed her ritual this time, with Lancelot's words ringing in her ears, she had found herself unable to make the incision.

It didn't stop her thinking about it though and, she knew, that if one of them should die then she would be to blame.

_Please keep them sage, we have a kingdom to build,_ she repeated in her head.

Looking back over her shoulder, Luciana spotted Guinevere looking anxious and slowed her pace so that she could walk alongside her Queen. "Something wrong?"

"You know full well there is," grouched Guinevere.

"Arthur was right to leave you here with us-"

"He-"

"You can't fight if you might be carrying the future heir. It wouldn't just be your life you'd be putting at risk."

"I would protect my child with my _life_."

"And Arthur would protect you both with his." Luciana smirked, knowing she had won when Guinevere cast a glare but remained silent. The Queen didn't like losing but sometimes it was a necessary evil. "Is there any sign yet?"

Guinevere sighed, "No," then she smiled, "it's looking more likely this time."

Luciana smiled and nodded as the Queen placed a hand gently on her all too flat stomach. She was eager for a child but the Gods had decided not yet to bless Guinevere and Arthur. "Good," she said simply, not wishing to raise Guinevere's hopes too much. After all, it was always she and Arthur who shouldered the heartbreak when things didn't go as planned.

"What about you?" asked Guinevere as secretive smile replaced her frown.

Luciana jumped slightly. "What about me? I-I'm not... I couldn't be..."

In response, Guinevere practically shrieked with laughter. "I think that's the first time I've ever heard you stutter!" Happy once more, she linked her arm with the Roman's. "I meant to ask if you have come to a decision between your two lovers," she whispered conspiratorially.

"If you are referring to Lancelot and Tristan, they are _not_ my lovers," responded Luciana curtly, rolling her eyes and only just catching the way Guinevere winced when she mentioned Lancelot.

He was still a sore subject for her then.

"You're going to have to choose between them at some point. Tristan's completely besotted with you!"

Luciana snorted, "He is _not_ completely besotted with me, you-"

Before Luciana could finish her sentence, a small group of Saxons came crashing through the nearby trees, charging straight towards Dagonet before any of the younger, less experienced Woads had any time to react and get in the way. Whilst everyone panicked around him, the knight quietly drew his sword and prepared himself. He didn't doubt that these men were a much higher calibre of soldier than the ones they had sought to distract Arthur with.

They had always been the target.

* * *

Arthur had long since forgone his horse, sending one of the youngest boys to tie up the horses far behind the lines so that he and the other knights could join their men on the ground, so they could lead them forwards as they hacked through the throngs of civilians.

As his sword tore through the leathery skin of an old man's slight torso, Arthur felt bile rise in his throat. Those he had met on the battlefield before had been trained to kill and taught to expect death; they all knew when they entered into the fight that there was a chance that their death would be dealt to them by a more experienced, more skilful warrior.

It was something all soldiers knew and expected, regardless of their origins.

These were not soldiers though and the only way Arthur could justify their deaths was that, if he did not kill them, they would kill him and his men and his budding kingdom would fall into ruin before it even had a chance to rise. They were untrained, fuelled only by the rage and hurt of loss. There was no purpose in their deaths. There would be no honour in their murder.

Then again, there never was...

* * *

They had fought well but, in the end, they could not compare with the level of skill shown by the small Saxon troop. Dagonet, weakened by his injury and vastly outnumbered, had been beaten down quickly and, without their leader, the Woad unit had fallen soon after. Under the orders of the Saxon leader, Dagonet slept restlessly in the royal wagon with Guinevere, Luciana, Vanora and her children all watching wearily over him. Lucan had been kept outside, to be used as leverage against them to keep them all quiet.

Every time he awoke, Dagonet asked after his son.

Aside from the Woad soldiers there had been only one death – an old spinster who had continued to crow at the Saxons long after they had bid everyone to remain silent. Her throat had been slit cleanly and her final caw had been muffled by the gruesome bubbling of blood as she fell to the floor. She had no family to mourn her and no friends to miss her but the spinster's death was still enough to spread mass hysteria throughout the procession of wagon. Women clutched their crying children to their skirts as they gathered beside the royal wagon.

In that wagon sat the people dearest to the King, they all knew, and the Saxon leader planned to use them to his full advantage.

"Listen and listen well," one of the Saxons – a stout man who walked with a limp but had proven scarily skilful with an axe – shouted, thriving in the collective fear of Arthur's people, "you will follow these men," he pointed to two of his own, Saxons painted as Woads, "to your destination as planned. If any of you try to contact Arthur," he paused to gesture to the corpse of the woman behind him, "you'll be joining her."

Inside the wagon, Guinevere was shaking with anger, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She should have done more to help. If only she had had her bow, she could have saved some of the men, she might even have saved that poor, old woman. The thought of her death nearly broke Guinevere, she knew the old spinster's story, it was a sad end to and unhappy life and she, like the others, had been entirely undeserving of it. "Why didn't you let me fight?" Guinevere hissed at Luciana. "I could have saved her."

"And gotten yourself killed in the process?" replied Luciana haughtily. "You're right. I should have let you fight."

"I don't need you to protect me!"

While Guinevere remained incensed, Luciana stayed completely calm, a single eyebrow quirked in a mildly contemptuous look. "Evidently, you do."

"Can we not do this now?" Vanora interrupted them both, imploring them from her place beside the ailing Dagonet. "We have bigger things to worry about now."

"Mama," one of Vanora's children piped up from beside his brothers and sisters, waddling over and huddling into his mother's skirts, "how much longer do we have to stay in here? I want to play."

Immediately, Guinevere and Luciana were silenced as they looked to the older woman for guidance, awaiting her answer as eagerly as her children did. "I don't know," said Vanora. "I really don't know."

* * *

Slowly, sluggishly, the troops moved back towards the wagons, hoping to meet with the others again before nightfall. They could see the outline of people and their wagons in the near distance, lumbering towards their destination.

Arthur sighed, a few of their own had fallen but he couldn't help feeling sorry for the civilians that they had killed. This was no great victory, it was a massacre made necessary by the tyrannical plotting of a revenge-minded Saxon.

There would be no celebrating that night.

Lancelot winced as Bors dabbed heavy-handedly at a small slice on his upper-arm. "Stop being such a girl," Bors told him gruffly, "Eight's laughed at worse scrapes than this."

Opening his mouth to respond, Lancelot shut it promptly. "What's that?" As he pointed into the distance, a small pony rushed towards them, Bors' eldest clinging to its back.

"Gilly!" yelled Bors, rushing over to meet the small pony and his son. "What's wrong?" He frowned, looking past Gilly for a sign of the others, he shouldn't have been so far from the wagons, even if they pony had bolted on Gilly there were enough horses and riders among the others to catch up with the boy easily.

Visibly shaken, Gilly allowed his father to pull him from the pony's back, looking warily at the beast as it snorted and scraped one hoof against the muddy ground, its eyes wildly wide and nostrils flaring with each deep breath. "Saxons," Gilly gasped out, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.

Suddenly, Arthur was knelt in front of the boy. "Where?"

"At the wagons. They took the others," he looked at his Father then, knowing that they would all know that he meant his Mother and his siblings, "and the Queen and Dagonet and Luciana."

All the troops in the vicinity fell silent. "There were other Saxons," Arthur growled beneath his breath. "There were always other Saxons."

"He said he wanted you to meet with him in two days' time. He said he wanted to negotiate with you face to face," babbled Gilly, fumbling over the words he had been forced to practise and repeat before he had been forced to leave everyone else.

"Who's 'he' Gilly?"

Gilly had to think about it for several minutes, the occasional tear dripping from his chin as he furrowed his brow in frustrated thought. Bors placed a gentle hand on his son's shoulder, even as the rest of him remained tense. "Abrecan," whispered the boy. "His name's Abrecan."

"And where does he want us to meet him?"

Stepping tentatively, Gilly struggled to untie the piece of paper that the Saxons had attached to the reins with his shaking hands. Eventually, Galahad moved in and took over the task. Almost eagerly, Gilly snatched away the map from Galahad and spread it open on the floor. "There," he pointed where an untidy circle had been placed, it was uncomfortably near to the new site of Camelot, just outside one of the older Roman fortresses. "He said something about neutral ground and... And... I don't remember the rest!"

As Gilly started to sob, Arthur smiled reassuringly. "Well done Gilly." Looking about at the others, he encouraged them all to smile too, for the boy's sake, and smile they did. It wasn't until Bors moved his son away that they let their smiles fall. Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, not even daring to look at the others.

It seemed he was about to lead them to death once more...


End file.
